The Maze Runner: Invader Zim Edition
by Crystal Draculura Bloodsucker
Summary: An old friend's premonition comes true when Dib wakes up in the lift, only remembering his name. He's surrounded by strangers-boys and girls whose memories are also gone. Outside the towering stone walls that surround the Glade is a maze. It's the only way out-and no one's ever made it through alive. Then an Irken arrives. And the message he delivers is terrifying. ZADR
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

He began his new life standing up, surrounded by cold darkness and stale, dusty air.

Metal ground against metal; a lurching shudder shook the floor beneath him. He fell down at the sudden movement and shuffled backward on his hands and feet, drops of sweat beading on his forehead despite the cool air. His back struck a hard metal wall; he slid along it until he hit the corner of the room. Sinking to the floor, he pulled his legs up tight against his body, hoping his eyes would soon adjust to the darkness.

With another jolt, the room jerked upward like an old lift in a mine shaft.

Harsh sounds of chains and pulleys, like the workings of an ancient steel factory, echoed through the room, bouncing off the walls with a hollow, tinny whine. The lightless elevator swayed back and forth as it ascended, turning the boy's stomach sour with nausea; a smell like burnt oil invaded his senses, making him feel worse. He wanted to cry, but no tears came; he could only sit there, alone, waiting.

 _My name is Dib,_ he thought.

That… that was the only thing he could remember about his life.

He didn't understand how this could be possible. His mind functioned without flaw, trying to calculate his surroundings and predicament. Knowledge flooded his thoughts, facts and images, memories and details of the world and how it works. He pictured snow on trees, running down a leaf-strewn road, eating a hamburger, the moon casting a pale glow on a grassy meadow, swimming in a lake, a busy city square with hundreds of people bustling about their business.

And yet he didn't know where he came from, or how he'd gotten inside the dark lift, or who his parents were. He didn't even know his last name. Images of people flashed across his mind, but there was no recognition, their faces replaced with haunted smears of color. He couldn't think of one person he knew, or recall a single conversation.

The room continued its ascent, swaying; Dib grew immune to the ceaseless rattling of the chains that pulled him upward. A long time passed. Minutes stretched into hours, although it was impossible to know for sure because every second seemed an eternity. No. He was smarter than that. Trusting his instincts, he knew he'd been moving for roughly _half_ an hour.

Strangely enough, he felt his fear whisked away like a swarm of gnats caught in the wind, replaced by an intense curiosity. He wanted to know where he was and what was happening.

With a groan and then a clonk, the rising room halted; the sudden change jolted Dib from his huddled position and threw him across the hard floor. As he scrambled to his feet he felt the room sway less and less until it finally stilled. Everything fell silent.

A minute passed. Two. He looked in every direction but saw only darkness; he felt along the walls again, searching for a way out. But there was nothing, only the cool metal. He groaned in frustration; his echo amplified through the air, like the haunted moan of death. It faded, and silence returned. He screamed, called for help, pounded on the walls with his fists.

Nothing.

Dib backed into the corner once again, folded his arms and shivered, and the fear returned. He felt a worrying shudder in his chest, as if his heart wanted to escape, to flee his body.

" _Someone… help… me!_ " He screamed; each word ripped his throat raw.

A loud clank rang out above him and he sucked in a startled breath as he looked up. A straight line of light appeared across the ceiling of the room, and Dib watched as it expanded. A heavy grating sound revealed double sliding doors being forced open. After so long in darkness, the light stabbed his eyes; he looked away, covering his face with both hands.

He heard noises above-voices-and fear squeezed his chest.

"Look at that shank."

"How old is he?"

"Looks like a klunk in a trenchcoat."

"You're the klunk, shuck-face."

"Dude, it smells like _feet_ down there!"

"Hope you enjoyed the one-way trip, Greenie."

"Ain't no ticket back, bro."

Dib was hit with a wave of confusion, blistered with panic. The voices were odd, tinged with echo; some of the words were completely foreign-others felt familiar. He willed his eyes to adjust as he squinted toward the light and those speaking. At first he could see only shifting shadows, but they soon turned into the shapes of bodies-people bending over the hole in the ceiling, looking down at him, pointing.

And then, as if the lens of a camera had sharpened its focus, the faces cleared. They were children, all of them. Boys and girls of all ages, completely human. Dib didn't know what he'd expected, but seeing those faces puzzled him. They were just kids. Some of his fear melted away, but not enough to calm his racing heart.

Someone lowered a rope from above, the end of it tied into a big loop. Dib hesitated, then stepped into it with his right foot and clutched the rope as he was yanked toward the sky. Hands reached down, lots of hands, grabbing him by his clothes, pulling him up. The world seemed to spin, a swirling mist of faces and color and light. A storm of emotions wrenched his gut, twisted and pulled; he wanted to scream, cry, throw up. The chorus of voices had grown silent, but someone spoke as they yanked him over the sharp edge of the dark box. And Dib knew he'd never forget the words.

"Nice to meet ya, shank," the boy said. "Welcome to the Glade."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The helping hands didn't stop swarming around him until Dib stood up straight and had the dust brushed from his shirt, trenchcoat, and pants. Still dazzled by the light, he staggered a bit. He was consumed with curiosity but still felt too ill to look closely at his surroundings. His new companions said nothing as he swiveled his head around, trying to take it all in.

As he rotated in a slow circle, the other kids snickered and stared; some reached out and poked him with a finger. There had to be at least fifty of them, their clothes smudged and sweaty as if they'd been hard at work, all shapes and sizes and races, their hair of varying lengths. Dib suddenly felt dizzy, his eyes flickering between the kids and the bizarre place in which he'd found himself.

They stood in a vast courtyard several times the size of a football field, surrounded by four enormous walls made of gray stone and covered in spots with thick ivy. The walls had to be hundreds of feet high and formed a perfect square around them, each side split in the exact middle by an opening as tall as the walls themselves that, from what Dib could see, led to passages and long corridors beyond.

"Look at the Greenbean," a scratchy male voice said; Dib couldn't see who it came from. "Gonna break his shuck neck checkin' out the new digs." Several others laughed.

"Shut your hole, Torque," another male voice responded.

Dib focused back in on the dozens of strangers around him. He knew he must look out of it-he felt like he'd been drugged. A girl with magenta hair and squinted brown eyes sniffed at him, her face devoid of expression. A short boy with orange hair and green eyes, fidgeted back and forth on his feet, looking up at Dib with wide eyes. Another girl with spiky purple hair with a black headband and hazel eyes, folded her arms as she studied Dib. A dark-skinned boy with black hair and dark eyes frowned-the same one who'd welcomed him. Countless others stared.

"Where am I? Dib asked, surprised at hearing his voice for the first time in his salvageable memory. It didn't sound quite right-higher than he would've imagined.

"Nowhere good." This came from the dark-skinned boy. "Just slim yourself nice and calm."

"Which Keeper he gonna get?" Someone shouted from the back of the crowd.

"I told ya, shuck-face," a shrill voice responded. "He's a klunk, so he'll be a Slopper-no doubt about it." The kid giggled like he'd just said the funniest thing in history.

Dib once again felt a pressing ache of confusion-hearing so many words and phrases that didn't make sense. _Shank. Shuck. Keeper. Slopper._ They popped out of the children's mouths so naturally it seemed odd for him not to understand. It was as if his memory loss had stolen a chunk of his language-it was disorienting.

Different emotions battled for dominance in his mind and heart. Confusion. Curiosity. Panic. Fear. But laced through it all was the dark feeling of utter hopelessness, like the world had ended for him, had been wiped from his memory and replaced with something awful. He wanted to run and hide from these people.

The scratchy-voiced boy was talking. "-even do that much, bet my liver on it." Dib still couldn't see his face.

"I said shut your holes!" The dark boy yelled. "Keep yapping and next break'll be cut in half!"

That must be their leader, Dib realized. Hating how everyone gawked at him, he concentrated on studying the place the boy had called the Glade.

The floor of the courtyard looked like it was made of huge stone blocks, many of them cracked and filled with long grasses and weeds. An odd, dilapidated wooden building near one of the corners of the square contrasted greatly with the gray stone. A few trees surrounded it, their roots like gnarled hands digging into the rock floor for food. Another corner of the compound held gardens-from where he was standing Dib recognized corn, tomato plants, and fruit trees.

Across the courtyard from there stood wooden pens holding sheep and pigs and cows. A large grove of trees filled the corner; the closest ones looked crippled and close to dying. The sky overhead was cloudless and blue, but Dib could see no sign of the sun despite the brightness of day. The creeping shadows of the walls didn't reveal the time or direction-it could be early morning or late afternoon. As he breathed in deeply, trying to settle his nerves, a mixture of smells bombarded him. Freshly turned dirt, manure, pine, something rotten and something sweet. Somehow he knew that these were the smells of a farm.

Dib looked back at his captors, feeling awkward but desperate to ask questions. _Captors,_ he thought. Then, _Why did that word pop into my head?_ He scanned their faces, taking in each expression, judging them. One boy's dark eyes, flared with hatred, stopped him cold.

This boy had brown hair and dark eyes. He was wearing a purple jersey with the name **Torque** on it, brown shorts, and red sneakers. He looked so angry, even angrier than the squinty eyed girl, Dib wouldn't have been surprised if the kid came at him with a knife. When they made eye contact, the boy shook his head and turned away, walking toward a greasy iron pole with a wooden bench next to it. A multicolored flag hung limply at the top of the pole, no wind to reveal its pattern.

Shaken, Dib stared at the boy's back until he turned and took a seat. Dib quickly looked away.

Suddenly the leader of the group-perhaps he was thirteen- took a step forward. He wore normal clothes: a blue and orange striped long-sleeved shirt with a white collar, black pants, and black shoes. For some reason the clothing here surprised Dib, it seemed like everyone should be wearing something more menacing-like prison garb. The dark-skinned boy's black hair was short-cropped, but other than the permanent scowl, there was nothing scary about him at all.

"It's a long story, shank," the boy said. "Piece by piece, you'll learn-I'll be takin' you on the Tour tomorrow. Till then… just don't break anything." He held a hand out. "Name's Letter M." He waited, clearly wanting to shake hands.

Dib refused. Some instinct took over his actions and without saying anything he turned away from Letter M and walked to a nearby tree, where he plopped down to sit with his back against the rough bark. Panic swelled inside him once again, almost too much to bear. But he took a deep breath and forced himself to try to accept the situation. _Just go with it,_ he thought. _You won't figure out anything if you give in to fear._

"Then tell me," Dib called out, struggling to keep his voice even. "Tell me the long story."

Letter M glanced at the friends closest to him, rolling his eyes, and Dib studied the crowd again. His original estimate had been close-there were probably fifty to sixty of them, ranging from boys and girls in their preteens to a beginning teenager like Letter M, who seemed to be one of the oldest. At that moment, Dib realized with a sickening lurch that he had no idea how old _he_ was. His heart sank at the thought-he was so lost he didn't even know his own age.

"Seriously," he said, giving up on the show of courage. "Where am I?"

Letter M walked over to him and sat down cross-legged; the crowd of boys and girls followed and packed in behind. Heads popped up here and there, kids leaning in every direction to get a better look.

"If you ain't scared," Letter M said, "you ain't human. Act any different and I'd throw you off the Cliff because it'd mean you're a psycho."

"The Cliff?" Dib asked, blood draining from his face.

"Shuck it," Letter M said, rubbing his eyes. "Ain't no way to start these conversations, you get me? We don't kill shanks like you here, I promise. Just try and avoid _being_ killed, survive, whatever."

He paused, and Dib realized his face must've whitened even more when he heard the last part.

"Man," Letter M said, then ran his hands over his short hair as he let out a long sigh. "I ain't good at this-you're the first Greenbean since Aki was killed."

Dib's eyes widened, and the squinty girl stepped up and playfully slapped Letter M across the head. "Wait for the stupid Tour, Letter M," she said, her voice a little deep for a ten year old. "Kid's gonna have a buggin' heart attack, nothin' even been heard yet." She bent down and extended her hand toward Dib. "Name's Gaz, Greenie, and we'd all be right cheery if ya'd forgive our klunk-for-brains new leader, here."

Dib reached out and shook the girl's hand-she _seemed_ a lot nicer than Letter M. Familiar too. Gaz was smaller than most of the kids around here, only by an inch or two. Her magenta hair was cut long, just grazing the shoulders of her black dress. She also wore black and magenta striped stockings, black shoes, and a skull necklace.

"Pipe it, shuck-face," Letter M grunted, pulling Gaz down to sit next to him. "At least he can understand _half_ my words." There were a few scattered laughs, and then everyone gathered behind Letter M and Gaz, packing in even tighter, waiting to hear what they said.

Letter M spread his arms out, palms up. "This place is called the Glade, all right? It's where we live, where we eat, where we sleep-we call ourselves the Gladers. That's all you-"

"Who sent me here?" Dib demanded, fear finally giving way to anger. "How'd-"

But Letter M's hand shot out before he could finish, grabbing Dib by his blue neutral faced shirt as he leaned forward on his knees. "Get up, shank, get up!" Letter M stood, pulling Dib with him.

Dib finally got to his feet under him, scared all over again. He backed against the tree, trying to get away from Letter M, who stayed right in his face.

"No interruptions, big-head!" Letter M shouted. "Whacker, if we told you everything, you'd die on the spot, right after you klunked your pants. Baggers'd drag you off, and you ain't no good to us then, are ya?"

"I don't even know what you're talking about," Dib said slowly, shocked at how steady his voice sounded, then said, "and my head's not big!"

Gaz reached out and grabbed Letter M by the shoulders. "Letter M, lay off a bit. You're hurtin' more than helpin', ya know?"

Letter M let go of Dib's shirt and stepped back, his chest heaving with breaths. "Ain't got time to be nice, Greenbean. Old life's over, new life's begun. Learn the rules quick, listen, don't talk. You get me?"

Dib looked over at Gaz, hoping for help. Everything inside him churned and hurt; the tears that had yet to come burned his eyes.

Gaz nodded. "Greenie, you get him, right?" She nodded again.

Dib fumed, wanted to punch somebody. But he simply said, "Yeah."

"Good that," Letter M said. "First Day. That's what today is for you, shank. Night's comin', Runners'll be back soon. The Box came late today, ain't got time for the Tour. Tomorrow morning, right after the wake-up." He turned toward Gaz. "Get him a bed, get him to sleep."

"Good that," Gaz said.

Letter M's eyes turned to Dib, narrowing. "A few weeks, you'll be happy, shank. You'll be happy and helpin'. None of us knew jack on the First Day, you neither. New life begins tomorrow."

Letter M turned and pushed his way through the crowd, then headed for the slanted wooden building in the corner. Most of the kids wandered away then, each one giving Dib a lingering look before they walked off.

Dib folded his arms, closed his eyes, took a deep breath. Emptiness ate away at his insides, quickly replaced by sadness that hurt his heart. It was all too much-where was he? What was this place? Was it some kind of prison? If so, why had he been sent here, and for how long? The language was odd, and none of the boys and girls seemed to care whether he lived or died. Tears threatened again to fill his eyes, but he refused to let them come.

"What did I do?" He whispered, not really meaning for anyone to hear him. "What did I do-why'd they send me here?"

Gaz clapped him on the shoulder. "Greenie, what you're feelin', we've all felt it. We've all had First Day, come out of that dark box. Things are bad, they are, and they'll get much worse for ya soon, that's the truth. But down the road a piece, you'll be fightin' true and good. I can tell you're not a whiner."

"Is this a prison?" Dib asked; he dug in the darkness of his thoughts, trying to find a crack to his past.

"Done asked four questions, haven't ya?" Gaz replied. "No good answers for ya, not yet, anyway. Best be quiet now, accept the change-morn comes tomorrow."

Dib said nothing, his head sunk, his eyes staring at the cracked, rocky ground. A line of small-leafed weeds ran along the edge of one of the stone blocks, tiny yellow flowers peeping through as if searching for the sun, long disappeared behind the enormous walls of the Glade.

"Keef'll be a good fit for ya," Gaz said. "Wee little annoying shank, but nice sap when all's said and done. Stay here, I'll be back."

Gaz had barely finished her sentence when a sudden, piercing scream ripped through the air. High and shrill, the barely human shriek echoed across the stone courtyard; every kid in sight turned to look toward the source. Dib felt his blood turn to icy slush as he realized that the horrible sound came from the wooden building.

Even Gaz had jumped as if startled, her eyes opening wide in concern.

"Shuck it," she said. "Can't the stupid Med-jacks handle that boy for ten minutes without needin' my help?" She shook her head and lightly kicked Dib on the foot. "Find Keef, tell him he's in charge of your sleepin' arrangements." And then she turned and headed in the direction of the building, running.

Dib slid down the rough face of the tree until he sat on the ground again; he shrank back against the bark and closed his eyes, wishing he could wake up from this terrible, terrible dream.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Dib sat there for several moments, too overwhelmed to move. He finally forced himself to look over at the haggard building. A group of boys and girls milled around outside, glancing anxiously at the upper windows as if expecting a hideous beast to leap out in an explosion of glass and wood.

A metallic clicking sound from the branches above grabbed his attention, made him look up; a flash of silver and red light caught his eyes just before disappearing around the trunk to the other side. He scrambled to his feet and walked around the tree, craning his next for a sign of whatever he'd heard, but he saw only bare branches, gray and brown, forking out like skeleton fingers-and looking just as alive.

"That was one of them beetle blades," someone said.

Dib turned to his right to see a kid standing near by, staring at him. He was the same orange haired, green eyed kid from earlier. He was wearing a blue T-shirt with a rainbow, green pants, and black shoes. He was probably only a year older than Gaz, making him eleven years old. His orange hair was short and had two bumps like a camel. His green eyes shown through an otherwise cheerful face.

Dib nodded at him. "A beetle what?"

"Beetle blade," the boy said, pointing to the top of the trees. "Won't hurt us unless you're stupid enough to touch one of them." He paused. "Shank." He didn't sound comfortable saying the last word, as if he hadn't quite grasped the slang of the Glade.

Another scream, this one long and nerve-grinding, tore through the air and Dib's heart lurched. The fear was like icy dew on his skin. "What's going on over there?" He asked, pointing at the building.

"Don't know," the boy replied; his voice still carried the highest pitch of childhood. "Iggins' in there, sicker than a dog. _They_ got him."

"They?" Dib didn't like the malicious way the boy had said the word.

"Yeah."

"Who are _They_?"

"Better hope you never find out," the kid answered, looking far too comfortable for the situation. He held out his hand. "My name's Keef. I was the Greenbean until you showed up."

 _This is my guide for the night?_ Dib thought. He couldn't shake his extreme discomfort, and now annoyance crept in as well. Nothing made sense; his head hurt.

"Why is everyone calling me Greenbean?" He asked, shaking Keef's hand quickly, then letting go.

"Cuz you're the newest Newbie." Keef pointed at Dib and laughed. Another scream came from the house, a sound like a starving animal being tortured.

"How can you be laughing?" Dib asked, horrified by the noise. "It sounds like someone's dying in there."

"He'll be okay. No one dies if they make it back in time to get the Serum. It's all or nothing. Dead or not dead. Just hurts a lot."

This gave Dib pause. "What hurts a lot?"

Keef's eyes wandered as if he wasn't sure what to say. "Um, gettin' stung by the Grievers."

"Grievers?" Dib was only getting more and more confused. _Stung. Grievers._ The words had a heavy weight of dread to them, and he suddenly wasn't so sure he wanted to know what Keef was talking about.

Keef shrugged, then looked away, eyes rolling.

Dib sighed in frustration and leaned back against the tree. "Looks like you barely know more than I do," he said, but he knew it wasn't true. His memory loss was strange. He mostly remembered the workings of the world-but emptied of specifics, faces, names. Like a book completely intact but missing one word in every dozen, making it a miserable and confusing read. He didn't even know his age.

"Keef, how… old do you think I am?"

The boy scanned him up and down. "I'd say you're twelve. And in case you were wondering, three foot nine… black hair in a scythe style, brown eyes behind those thick round black glasses. Oh, and a big head." He snorted a laugh.

Dib was so stunned he'd barely heard the last part. Twelve? He was _twelve_? He felt much older than that.

"Are you serious?" He paused, searching for words. "How…" He didn't even know what to ask.

"Don't worry. You'll be all whacked for a few days, but then you'll get used to this place. I have. We live here, this is it. Better than living in a pile of klunk." He squinted, maybe anticipating Dib's question. " _Klunk's_ another word for poo. Poo makes a klunk sound when it falls in our pee pots."

Dib looked at Keef, unable to believe he was having this conversation. "That's nice" was all he could manage. He stood up and walked past Keef toward the old building; _shack_ was a better word for the place. It looked three or four stories high and about to fall down at any minute-a crazy assortment of logs and boards and thick twine and windows seemingly thrown together at random, the massive, ivy strewn stone walls rising up behind it. As he moved across the courtyard, the distinct smell of firewood and some kind of meat cooking made his stomach grumble. Knowing now that it was just a sick kid doing the screaming made Dib feel better. Until he thought about what had caused it…

"What's your name?" Keef asked from behind, running to catch up.

"What?"

"Your _name_? You still haven't told us-and I know you remember that much."

"Dib." He barely heard himself say it-his thoughts had spun in a new direction. If Keef was right, he'd just discovered a link to the rest of the boys and girls. A common pattern to their memory losses. They all remembered their names. Why not their parents' names? Why not a friend's name? Why not their _last_ names?

"Nice to meet you, Dib," Keef said. "Don't worry, I'll take care of you. I've been here a whole month, and I know the place inside and out. You can count on Keef, okay?"

Dib had almost reached the front door of the shack and the small groups of kids congregating there when he was hit by a sudden and surprise rush of anger. He turned to face Keef. "You can't even _tell_ me anything. I wouldn't call that taking care of me." He turned back toward the door, intent on going inside to find some answers. Where this sudden courage and resolve came from, he had no idea.

Keef shrugged. "Nothin' I say'll do you any good," he said. "I'm basically still a Newbie, too. But I can be your friend-"

"I don't need friends," Dib interrupted.

He'd reached the door, an ugly slab of sun-faded wood, and he pulled it open to see several stoic-faced boys and girls standing at the foot of a crooked staircase, the steps and railings twisted and angled in all directions. Dark wallpaper covered the walls of the foyer and hallway, half of it peeling off. The only decorations in sight were a dusty vase on a three-legged table and a black-and-white picture of an ancient woman dressed in an old-fashioned white dress. It reminded Dib of a haunted house from a movie or something. There were even planks of wood missing from the door. Somehow, this thrilled him.

The place reeked of dust and mildew-a big contrast to the pleasant smells outside. Flickering fluorescent lights shone from the ceiling. He hadn't thought of it yet, but he had to wonder where the electricity came from in a place like the Glade. He stared at the old woman in the picture. Had she lived here once? Taken care of these people?

"Hey, look, it's the Greenbean," one of the older boys called out. With a start, Dib realized it was the brown-haired guy who'd given him the look of death earlier. He looked like he was thirteen like Letter M. "This shank probably klunked his pants when he heard Iggins scream like a girl. Need a new diaper, shuck-face?"

"My name's Dib." He had to get away from this guy. Without another word, he made for the stairs, only because they were close, only because he had no idea what to do or say. But the bully stepped in front of him, holding a hand up.

"Hold on there, Greenie." He jerked a thumb in the direction of the upper floor. "Newbies aren't allowed to see someone who's been… _taken_. Gaz and Letter M won't allow it."

"What's your problem?" Dib asked, trying to keep the fear out of his voice, trying not to think what the kid had meant by _taken_. "I don't even know where I am. All I want is some help."

"Listen to me, Greenbean." The boy wrinkled up his face, folded his arms. "I've seen you before. Something's fishy about you showing up here, and I'm gonna find out what."

A surge of heat pulsed through Dib's veins. "I've never seen you before in my life. I have no idea who you are, and I couldn't care less," he spat. But really, how would he know? And how could this kid remember _him_?

The bully snickered, a short burst of laughter mixed with a phlegm-filled snort. Then his face grew serious, his eyebrows slanting inward. "I've… _seen_ you, shank. Not too many in these parts can say they've been stung." He pointed up the stairs. "I have. I know what Iggins' going through. I've been there. And I saw _you_ during the Changing."

He reached out and poked Dib in the chest. "And I bet your first meal from Spuddy that Iggins'll say he's seen ya, too."

Dib refused to break eye contact but decided to say nothing. Panic ate at him once again. Would things ever stop getting worse?

"Griever got ya wettin' yourself?" The boy said through a sneer. "A little scared now? Don't wanna get _stung_ , do ya?"

There was that word again. _Stung._ Dib tried not to think about it and pointed up the stairs, from where the moans of the sick kid echoed through the building. "If Gaz went up there, then I wanna talk to her."

The boy said nothing, stared at Dib for several seconds. Then he shook his head. "You know what? You're right, Dib-I shouldn't be so mean to Newbies. Go on upstairs and I'm sure Letter M and Gaz'll fill you in. Seriously, go on. I'm sorry."

He lightly slapped Dib's shoulder, then stepped back, gesturing up the stairs. But Dib knew the kid was up to something. Losing parts of your memory didn't make you an idiot.

"What's your name?" Dib asked, stalling for time while he tried to decide if he should go up after all.

"Torque. And don't let anyone fool you. I'm the real leader here, not the two geezer shanks upstairs. Me. You can call me Commander Torque if you want." He smiled for the first time; none of them were missing and they were completely white. Though, his breath escaped just enough for Dib to get a whiff, reminding him of some horrible memory that was just out of reach. It made his stomach turn.

"Okay," he said, so sick of the guy he wanted to scream, punch him in the face. "Commander Torque it is." He exaggerated a salute, feeling a rush of adrenaline, as he knew he'd just crossed a line.

A few snickers escaped the crowd, and Torque looked around, his face bright red. He peered back at Dib, hatred furrowing his brow and crinkling his nose.

"Just go up the stairs," Torque said. "And stay away from me, you little slinthead." He pointed up again but didn't take his eyes off Dib.

"Fine." Dib looked around one more time, embarrassed, confused, angry. He felt the heat of blood in his face. No one made a move to stop him from doing as Torque asked, except for Keef, who stood at the front door, shaking his head

"You're not supposed to," the younger boy said. "You're a Newbie-you can't go up there."

"Go," said Torque with a sneer. "Go on up."

Dib regretted having come inside in the first place-but he _did_ want to talk to that Gaz girl.

He started up the stairs. Each step groaned and creaked under his weight; he might've stopped for fear of falling through the old wood if he weren't leaving such an awkward situation below. Up he went, wincing at every splintered sound. The stairs reached a landing, turned left, then came upon a railed hallway leading to several rooms. Only one door had a light coming through the crack at the bottom.

"The Changing!" Torque shouted from below. "Look forward to it, shuck-face!"

As if the taunting gave Dib a sudden burst of courage, he walked over to the lit door, ignoring the creaking floorboards and laughter downstairs-ignoring the onslaught of words he didn't understand, suppressing the dreadful feeling they induced. He reached down, turned the brass handle, and opened the door.

Inside the room, Gaz and Letter M crouched over someone lying on a bed.

Dib leaned in closer to see what the fuss was about, but when he got a clear look at the condition of the patient, his heart went cold. He had to fight the bile that surged up his throat.

The look was fast-only a few seconds-but it was enough to haunt him forever. A twisted, pale figure writhing in agony, chest bare and hideous. Tight, rigid cords of sickly green veins webbed across the boy's body and limbs, like ropes under his skin. Purplish bruises covered the kid, red hives, bloody scratches. His bloodshot eyes bulged, darting back and forth. The image had already burned into Dib's mind before Letter M jumped up, blocking the view but not the moans and screams, pushing Dib out of the room, then slamming the door shut behind them.

"What're you doing up here, Greenie!" Letter M yelled, his lips taut with anger, eyes on fire.

Dib felt weak. "I… uh… want some answers," he murmured, but he couldn't put any strength in his words-felt himself give up inside. What was wrong with that kid? Dib slouched against the railing in the hallway and stared at the floor, not sure what to do next.

"Get your runtcheeks down those stairs, right now," Letter M ordered. "Keef'll help you. If I see you again before tomorrow morning, you ain't reachin' another one alive. I'll throw you off the Cliff myself, you get me?"

Dib was humiliated and scared. He felt like he'd shrunk to the size of a small rat. Without saying a word, he pushed past Letter M and headed down the creaky steps, going as fast as he dared. Ignoring the gaping stares of everyone at the bottom-especially Torque-he walked out the door, pulling Keef by the arm as he did so.

Dib hated these people. He hated all of them. Except Keef. "Get me away from these guys," Dib said. He realized that Keef might actually be his only friend in the world.

"You got it," Keef replied, his voice chipper, as if thrilled to be needed. "But first we should get you some food from Spuddy."

"I don't know if I can ever eat again." Not after what he'd just seen.

Keef nodded. "Yeah, you will. I'll meet you at the same tree as before. Ten minutes."

Dib was more than happy to get away from the house, and head back toward the tree. He'd only known what it was like to be alive here for a short while and he already wanted it to end. He wished for all the world he would remember something about his previous life. Anything. His mom, his dad, a sibling, a friend, his school, a hobby. A girl? A boy? Maybe something not even human?

He blinked hard several times, trying to get the image of what he'd just seen in the shack out of his mind.

 _The Changing._ Torque had called it the Changing.

It wasn't cold, but Dib shuddered once again.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Dib leaned against the tree as he waited for Keef. He scanned the compound of the Glade, this new place of nightmares where he seemed destined to live. The shadows from the walls had lengthened considerably, already creeping up the sides of the ivy-covered stone faces on the other side.

At least this help Dib know directions-the wooden building crouched in the northwest corner, wedged in a darkening patch of shadow, the grove of trees in the southwest. The farm area, where a few workers were still picking their way through the fields, spread across the entire northeast quarter of Glade. The animals were in the southeast corner, mooing and crowing and baying.

In the exact middle of the courtyard, the still-gaping hole of the Box lay open, as if inviting him to jump back in and go home. Near that, maybe twenty feet to the south, stood a squat building made of rough concrete blocks, a menacing iron door its only entrance-there were no windows. A large round handle resembling a steel steering wheel marked the only way to open the door, just like something within a submarine. Despite what he'd just seen, Dib didn't know which he felt more strongly-curiosity to know what was inside, or dread at finding out.

Dib had just moved his attention to the four vast openings in the middle of the main walls of the Glade when Keef arrived, a couple of sandwiches cradled in his arms, along with apples and two metal cups of water. The sense of relief that flooded through Dib surprised him-he wasn't _completely_ alone in this place.

"Spuddy wasn't too happy about me invading his kitchen before suppertime," Keef said, sitting down next to the tree, motioning to Dib to do the same. He did, grabbed the sandwich, but hesitated, the writhing, monstrous image of what he'd seen in the shack popping back into his mind. Soon though, his hunger won out and he took a huge bite. The wonderful tastes of ham and cheese and mayonnaise filled his mouth.

"Ah man," Dib mumbled through a mouthful. "I was starving."

"Told ya." Keef chomped into his own sandwich.

After another couple of bites, Dib finally asked the question that had been bothering him. "What's actually _wrong_ with that Iggins guy? He doesn't even look human anymore."

Keef glanced over at the house. "Don't really know," he muttered absently. "I didn't see him."

Dib could tell the boy was being less than honest but decided not to press him. "Well, you don't want to see him, trust me." He continued to eat, munching on the apples as he studied the huge breaks in the walls. Though it was hard to make out from where he sat, there was something odd about the stone edges of the exits to the outside corridors. He felt an uncomfortable sense of vertigo looking at the towering walls, as if he hovered above them instead of sitting at their base.

"What's out there?" He asked, finally breaking the silence. "Is this part of a huge castle or something?"

Keef hesitated. Looked uncomfortable. "Um, I've never been outside the Glade."

Dib paused. "You're hiding something," he finally replied, finishing off his last bite and taking a long swig of water. The frustration at getting no answers from anyone was starting to grind his nerves. It only made it worse to think that even if he IdidI get answers, he wouldn't know if he'd be getting the truth. "Why are you guys so secretive?"

"That's just the way it is. Things are really weird around here, and most of us don't know everything. _Half_ of everything."

It bothered Dib that Keef didn't seem to care about what he'd just said. That he seemed indifferent to having his life taken away from him. What was wrong with these people? Dib got to his feet and started walking toward the eastern opening. "Well, no one said I couldn't look around." He needed to learn something or he was going to lose his mind.

"Whoa, wait!" Keef cried, running to catch up. "Be careful, those puppies are about to close." He already sound out of breath.

"Close?" Dib repeated. "What are you talking about?"

"The Doors, you shank."

"Doors? I don't see any doors." Dib knew Keef wasn't just making stuff up-he knew he was missing something obvious. He grew uneasy and he realized he'd slowed his pace, not so eager to reach the walls anymore.

"What do you call those big openings?" Keef pointed up at the enormously tall gaps in the walls. They were only thirty feet away now.

"I'd call them _big openings_ ," Dib said, trying to counter his discomfort with sarcasm and disappointed that it wasn't working.

"Well, they're _doors_. And they close up every night."

Dib stopped, thinking Keef had to have said something wrong. He looked up, looked side to side, examined the massive slabs of stone as the uneasy feeling blossomed into outright dread. "What do you mean, they _close_?"

"Just see for yourself in a minute. The Runners'll be back soon; then those big walls are going to _move_ until the gaps are closed."

"You're jacked in the head," Dib muttered. He couldn't see how the mammoth walls could possibly be mobile-felt so sure of it he relaxed, thinking Keef was just playing a trick on him.

They reached the huge split that led outside to more stone pathways. Dib gaped, his mind emptying of thought as he saw it all firsthand.

"This is called the East Door," Keef said, as if proudly revealing a piece of art he'd created.

Dib barely heard him, shocked by how much bigger it was up close. At least twenty feet across, the break in the wall went all the way to the top, far above. The edges that bordered the vast opening were smooth, except for one odd, repeating pattern on both sides. On the left side of the East Door, deep holes several inches in diameter and spaced a foot apart were bored into the rock, beginning near the ground and continuing all the way up.

On the right side of the Door, foot-long rods jutted out from the wall edge, also several inches in diameter, in the same pattern as the holes facing them on the other side. The purpose was obvious.

"Are you kidding?" Dib asked, the dread slamming back into his gut. "You weren't playing with me? The walls really _move_?"

"What else would I meant?"

Dib had a hard time wrapping his mind around the possibility. "I don't know. I figured there was a door that swung shut or a little mini-wall that slid out of the big one. How could these walls move? They're huge, and they look like they've been standing here for a thousand years." And the idea of those walls closing and trapping him inside this place they called the Glade was downright terrifying.

Keef threw his arms up, clearly frustrated. "I don't know, they just move. Makes one heck of a grinding noise. Same thing happens out in the Maze-those walls shift every night, too."

Dib, his attention suddenly snapped up by a new detail, turned to face the younger boy. "What did you just say?"

"Huh?"

"You just called it a maze-you said, 'same thing happens out in the _maze_.'"

Keef's face reddened. "I'm done with you. I'm done." He walked back toward the tree they'd just left.

Dib ignored him, more interested than ever in the outside of the Glade. A _maze_? In front of him, through the East Door, he could make out passages leading to the left, to the right, and straight ahead. And the walls of the corridors were similar to those that surrounded the Glade, the ground made of the same massive stone blocks as in the courtyard. The ivy seemed even thicker out there. In the distance, more breaks in the walls led to other paths, and farther down, maybe a hundred yards or so away, the straight passage came to a dead end.

"Looks like a maze," Dib whispered, almost laughing to himself. As if things couldn't have gotten any stranger. They'd wiped his memory and put him inside a gigantic maze. It was all so crazy it really did seem funny.

His heart skipped a beat when a boy unexpectedly appeared around a corner up ahead, entering the main passage from one of the offshoots to the right, running toward him and the Glade. Covered in sweat, his face red, clothes sticking to his body, the boy didn't slow, hardly glancing at Dib as he went past. He headed straight for the squat concrete building located near the Box.

Dib turned as he passed, his eyes riveted to the exhausted runner, unsure why this new development surprised him so much. Why _wouldn't_ people go out and search the maze? Then he realized others were entering through the remaining three Glade openings, all of them running and looking as ragged as the guy who'd just whisked by him. There couldn't be much good about the maze if these guys came back looking so weary and worn.

He watched, curious, as they met at the big iron door of the small building; one of the boys turned the rusty wheel handle, grunting with the effort. Keef had said something about runners earlier. What had they been doing out there?

The big door finally popped open, and with a deafening squeal of metal against metal, the boys swung it wide. They disappeared inside, pulling it shut behind them with a loud clonk. Dib stared, his mind churning to come up with any possible explanation for what he'd just witnessed. Nothing developed, but something about that creepy old building gave him goosebumps, a disquieting chill.

Someone tugged on his sleeve, breaking him from his thoughts; Keef had come back.

Before Dib had a chance to think, questions were rushing out of his mouth. "Who are those guys and what were they doing? What's in that building?" He wheeled around and pointed out the East Door. "And why do you live inside a freaking maze?" He felt a rattling pressure of uncertainty, making his head splinter with pain.

"I'm not saying another word," Keef replied, a new authority filling his voice. "I think you should get to bed early-you'll need your sleep. Ah"-he stopped, held up a finger, pricking up his right ear-"it's about to happen."

"What?" Dib asked, thinking it kind of strange that Keef was suddenly acting like an adult instead of the little kid desperate for a friend he'd been only moments earlier.

A loud boom exploded through the air, making Dib jump. It was followed by a horrible crunching, grinding sound. He stumbled backward, fell to the ground. It felt as if the whole earth shook; he looked around, panicked. The walls were closing. The walls were _really_ closing-trapping him inside the Glade. An onrushing sense of claustrophobia stifled him, compressed his lungs, as if water filled their cavities.

"Calm down, Greenie," Keef yelled over the noise. "It's just the walls!"

Dib barely heard him, too fascinated, too shaken by the closing of the Doors. He scrambled to his feet and took a few trembling steps back for a better view, finding it hard to believe what his eyes were seeing.

The enormous stone wall to the right of them seemed to defy every known law of physics as it slid along the ground, throwing sparks and dust as it moved, rock against rock. The crunching sound rattled his bones. Dib realized that only IthatI wall was moving, heading for its neighbor to the left, ready to seal shut with its protruding rods slipping into the drilled holes across from it. He looked around at the other openings. It felt like his head was spinning faster than his body, and his stomach flipped over with the dizziness. On all four sides of the Glade, only the right walls were moving, toward the left, closing the gap of the Doors.

 _Impossible,_ he thought. _How can they DO that?_ He fought the urge to run out there, slip past the moving slabs of rock before they shut, flee the Glade. Common sense won out-the maze held even more unknowns than his situation inside.

He tried to picture in his mind how the structure of it all worked. Massive stone walls, hundreds of feet high, moving like sliding glass doors-an image from his past life that flashed through his thoughts. He tried to grasp the memory, hold on to it, complete the picture with faces, names, a place, but it faded into obscurity. A pang of sadness pricked through his other swirling emotions.

He watched as the right wall reached the end of its journey, its connecting rods finding their mark and entering without a glitch. An echoing boom rumbled across the Glade as all four Doors sealed shut for the night. Dib felt one final moment of trepidation, a quick slice of fear through his body, and then it vanished.

A surprising sense of calm eased his nerves; he let out a long sigh of relief. "Wow," he said, feeling dumb at such a monumental understatement.

"Ain't nothin', as Letter M would say," Keef murmured. "You kind of get used to it after a while."

Dib looked around one more time, the _feel_ of the place completely different now that all the walls were solid with no way out. He tried to imagine the purpose of such a thing, and he didn't know which guess was worse-that they were being sealed _in_ or that they were being protected from something _out there_. The thought ended his brief moment of calm, stirring in his mind a million possibilities of what might live in the maze outside, all of them terrifying. Fear gripped him once again.

"Come _on_ ," Keef said, pulling at Dib's sleeve a second time. "Trust me, when nighttime strikes, you want to be in _bed_."

Dib knew he had no other choice. He did his best to suppress everything he was feeling and followed.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

They ended up near the back of the Homestead-that was what Keef called the leaning structure of wood and windows-in a dark shadow between the building and the stone wall behind it.

"Where are we going?" Dib asked, still feeling the weight of seeing those walls close, thinking about the maze, the confusion, the fear. He told himself to stop or he'd drive himself crazy. Trying to grasp a sense of normalcy, he made a weak attempt at a joke. "If you're looking for a goodnight kiss, forget it."

Keef didn't miss a beat. "Just shut up and stay close."

Dib let out a big breath and shrugged before following the younger boy along the back of the building. They tiptoed until they came upon a small, dusty window, a soft beam of light shining through onto the stone and ivy. Dib heard someone moving around inside.

"The bathroom," Keef whispered.

"So?" A thread of unease stitched along Dib's skin.

"I love doing this to people. Gives me great pleasure before bedtime."

"Doing what?" Something told Dib Keef was up to no good. "Maybe I should-"

"Just shut your mouth and watch." Keef quietly stepped up onto a big wooden box that sat right under the window. He crouched so that his head was positioned just below where the person on the inside would be able to see him. Then he reached up with his hand and lightly tapped on the glass.

"This is stupid," Dib whispered. There couldn't possibly be a worse time to play a joke-Gaz or Letter M could be in there. "I don't wanna get in trouble-I just got here!"

Keef suppressed a laugh by putting his hand over his mouth. Ignoring Dib, he reached up and tapped the window again.

A shadow crossed the light; then the window slid open. Dib jumped to hide, pressing himself against the back of the building as hard as he could. He just couldn't believe he'd been suckered into playing a practical joke on somebody. The angle of vision from the window protected him for the moment, but he knew he and Keef would be seen if whoever was in there pushed their head outside to get a better look.

"Who's that!" yelled the boy from the bathroom, his voice scratchy and laced with anger. Dib had to hold in a gasp when he realized it was Torque-he _knew_ that voice already.

Without warning, Keef suddenly popped his head up toward the window and screamed at the top of his lungs. A loud crash from inside revealed that the trick had worked-and the litany of swearwords following it let them know Torque was none too happy about it. Dib was struck with an odd mix of horror and embarrassment.

"I'm gonna kill you, shuck-face!" Torque yelled, but Keef was already off the box and running toward the open Glade. Dib froze as he heard Torque open the door inside and run out of the bathroom.

Dib finally snapped out of his daze and took off after his new-and only-friend. He'd just rounded the corner when Torque came screaming out of the Homestead, looking like a ferocious beast on the loose.

He immediately pointed at Dib. "Come here!" he yelled.

Dib's heart sank in surrender. Everything seemed to indicate that he'd be getting a fist in the face. "It wasn't me, I swear," he said, though as he stood there, he realized that the boy sized him up and he sould be more terrified than he really was. Torque was huge-Dib would never be able to take him if he had to.

"Wasn't you?" Torque snarled. He ambled up to Dib slowly and stopped right in front of him. "Then how do you know there was something you didn't do?"

Dib didn't say anything. He was definitely uncomfortable but not nearly as scared as a few moments earlier.

"I'm not a dong, Greenie," Torque spat. "I saw Keef's cheery face in the window." He pointed again, this time right at Dib's chest. "But you better decide right quick who you want as your friends and enemies, hear me? One more trick like that-I don't care if it's your sissy idea or not-there'll be blood spilled. You got that, Newbie?" But before Dib could answer Torque'd already turned to walk away.

Dib just wanted this episode over. "Sorry," he muttered, wincing at how stupid it sounded.

"I know you," Torque added without looking back. "I saw you in the Changing, and I'm gonna figure out who you are."

Dib watched as the bully disappeared back into the Homestead. He couldn't remember much, but something told him he'd never disliked someone so strongly. He was surprised by how much he truly hated the guy. He really, really hated him. He turned to see Keef standing there, staring at the ground, clearly embarrassed. "Thanks a lot, _buddy_."

"Sorry-if I'd known it was Torque, I never would've done it, I swear."

Surprising himself, Dib laughed. An hour ago, he'd thought he'd never hear such a sound come out of his mouth again.

Keef looked closely at Dib and slowly broke into an uneasy grin. "What?"

Dib shook his head. "Don't be sorry. The… shank deserved it, and I don't even know what a shank is. That was awesome." He felt much better.

…

A couple of hours later, Dib was lying in a soft sleeping bag next to Keef on a bed of grass near the gardens. It was a wide lawn that he hadn't noticed before, and quite a few of the group chose it as their bedtime spot. Dib thought that was strange, but apparently there wasn't enough room inside the Homestead. At least it was warm. Which made him wonder for the millionth time _where_ they were. His mind had a hard time grasping names of places, or remembering countries or rulers, how the world was organized. And none of the kids in the Glade had a clue, either-at least, they weren't sharing if they did.

He lay in silence for the longest time, looking at the stars and listening to the soft murmurs of various conversations drifting across the Glade. Sleep felt miles away, and he couldn't shake the despair and hopelessness that coursed through his body and mind-the temporary joy of Keef's trick on Torque had long since faded away. It'd been one endless-and strange-day.

It was just so… weird. He remembered lots of little things about life-eating, clothes, studying, playing, general images of the makeup of the world. But any detail that would fill in the picture to create a true and complete memory had been erased somehow. It was like looking at an image through a foot of muddy water. More than anything else, perhaps, he felt… _sad_.

Keef interrupted his thoughts. "Well, Greenie, you survived First Day."

"Barely." _Not now, Keef,_ he wanted to say. _I'm not in the mood._

Keef pulled himself up to lean on an elbow, looking at Dib. "You'll learn a lot in the next couple of days, start getting used to things. Good that?"

"Um, yeah, good that, I guess. Where'd all these weird words and phrases come from, anyway?" It seemed like they'd taken some other language and melded it with his own.

Keef flopped back down with a heavy flump. "I don't know-I've only been here a month, remember?"

Dib wondered about Keef, whether he knew more than he let on. He was a quirky kid, funny, and he seemed innocent, but who was to say? Really he was just as mysterious as everything else in the Glade.

A few minutes passed, and Dib felt the long day finally catch up to him, the leaded edge of sleep crossing over his mind. But-like a fist had shoved it in his brain and let go-a thought popped into his head. One that he didn't expect, and he wasn't sure from where it came.

Suddenly, the Glade, the walls, the Maze-it all seemed… familiar. Comfortable. A warmth of calmness spread through his chest, and for the first time since he'd found himself there, he didn't feel like the Glade was the worst place in the universe. He stilled, felt his eyes widen, his breathing stop for a long moment. _What just happened?_ He thought. _What changed?_ Ironically, the feeling that things would be okay made him slightly uneasy.

Not quite understanding how, he knew what he needed to do. He didn't get it. The feeling-the epiphany-was a strange one, foreign and familiar at the same time. But it felt… right.

"I want to be one of those guys that goes out there," he said aloud, not knowing if Keef was still awake. "Inside the Maze."

"Huh?" was the response from Keef. Dib could hear a tinge of annoyance in his voice.

"Runners," Dib said, wishing he knew where this was coming from. "Whatever they're doing out there, I want in."

"You don't even know what you're talking about," Keef grumbled, and rolled over. "Go to sleep."

Dib felt a new surge of confidence, even though he truly _didn't_ know what he was talking about. "I want to be a Runner."

Keef turned back and got up on his elbow. "You can forget that little thought right now."

Dib wondered at Keef's reaction, but pressed on. "Don't try to-"

"Dib. Newbie. My new friend. Forget it."

"I'll tell Letter M tomorrow." _A Runner,_ Dib thought. _I don't even know what that_ means. _Have I gone completely insane?_

Keef lay down with a laugh. "You're a piece of klunk. Go to sleep."

But Dib couldn't quit. "Something out there-it feels familiar."

"Go… to… sleep."

Then it hit Dib-he felt like several pieces of a puzzle had been put together. He didn't know what the ultimate picture would be, but his next words almost felt like they were coming from someone else. "Keef, I… I think I've _been_ here before."

He heard his friends sit up, heard the intake of breath. But Dib rolled over and refused to say another word, worried he'd mess up this new sense of being encouraged, eradicate the reassuring calm that filled his heart.

Sleep came much more easily than he'd expected.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Someone shook Dib awake. His eyes snapped open to see a too close face staring down at him, everything around them still shadowed by the darkness of early morning. He opened his mouth to speak but a cold hand clamped down on it, gripping it shut. Panic flared until he saw who it was.

"Shh, Greenie. Don't wanna be wakin' Keef, now, do we?"

It was Gaz-the girl who seemed to be second in command; the air reeked of her morning breath.

Though Dib was surprised, any alarm melted away immediately. He couldn't help being curious, wondering what this girl wanted with him. Dib nodded, doing his best to say yes with his eyes, until Gaz finally took her hand away, then leaned back on her heels.

"Come on, Greenie," the small girl whispered as she stood. She reached down and helped Dib to his feet-she was so strong it felt like she could rip Dib's arm off. "Supposed to show ya somethin' before the wake-up."

Any lingering haze of sleep had already vanished from Dib's mind. "Okay," he said simply, ready to follow. He knew he should hold _some_ suspicion, having no reason to trust anyone yet, but the curiosity won out. He quickly leaned over and slipped on his shoes. "Where are we going?"

"Just follow me. And stay close."

They snuck their way through the tightly strewn pack of sleeping bodies, Dib almost tripping several times. He stepped on someone's hand, earning a sharp cry of pain in return, then a punch on the calf.

"Sorry," he whispered, ignoring a dirty look from Gaz.

Once they left the lawn area and stepped onto the hard gray stone of the courtyard floor, Gaz broke into a run, heading for the western wall, Dib hesitated at first, wondering why she needed to run, but snapped out of it quickly and followed at the same pace.

The light was dim, but any obstructions loomed as darker shadows and he was able to make his way quickly along. He stopped when Gaz did, right next to the massive wall towering above them like a skyscraper-another random image that floated in the murky pool of his memory wipe. Dib noticed small red lights flashing here and there along the wall's face, moving about, stopping, turning off and on.

"What are those?" he whispered as loudly as he dared, wondering if his voice sounded as he felt. The twinkling red glow of the lights held an undercurrent of warning.

Gaz stood just a couple of feet in front of the thick curtain of ivy on the wall. "When you bloody need to know, you'll know, Greenie."

"Well, it's kind of stupid to send me to a place where nothing makes sense and not answer my questions." Dib paused, surprised at himself. " _Shank_ ," he added, throwing all the sarcasm he could into the syllable.

Gaz broke out in a laugh, but quickly cut it off. "I like you, Greenie. Now shut it and let me show ya somethin'."

Gaz stepped forward and dug her hands into the thick ivy, spreading several vines away from the wall to reveal a dust-frosted window, a square about two feet wide. It was dark at the moment, as if it had been painted black.

"What're we looking for?" Dib whispered.

"Hold your undies, boy. One'll be comin' along soon enough."

A minute passed, then two. Several more. Dib fidgeted on his feet, wondering how Gaz could stand there, perfectly patient and still, staring into nothing but darkness.

Then it changed.

Glimmers of an eerie light shone through the window; it cast a wavering spectrum of colors on Gaz's body and face, as if she stood next to a lighted swimming pool. Dib grew perfectly still, squinting, trying to make out what was on the other side. A thick lump grew in his throat. _What is that?_ He thought.

"Out there's the Maze," Gaz whispered, eyes wide as if in a trance. "Everything we do-our whole life, Greenie-revolves around the Maze, tryin' to solve somethin' that's not shown us it has a bloody solution, ya know? And we want to show ya why it's not to be messed with. Show ya why them buggin' walls close shut every night. Show ya why you should never, never find your butt out there."

Gaz stepped back, still holding on to the ivy vines. She gestured for Dib to take her place and look through the window.

Dib did, leaning forward until his nose touched the cool surface of the glass. It took a second for his eyes to focus on the moving object on the other side, to look past the grime and dust and see what Gaz wanted him to see. And when he did, he felt his breath catch in his throat, like an icy wind had blown down there and frozen the air solid.

A large, bulbous creature the size of a cow but with no distinct shape twisted and seethed along the ground in the corridor outside. It climbed the opposite wall, then leaped at the thick-glassed window with a loud thump. Dib shrieked before he could stop himself, jerked away from the window-but the thing bounced backward, leaving the glass undamaged.

Dib sucked in two huge breaths and leaned in once again. It was too dark to make out clearly, but odd lights flashed from an unknown source, revealing blurs of silver spikes and glistening flesh. Wicked instrument-tipped appendages protruded from its body like arms; a saw blade, a set of shears, long rods whose purpose could only be guessed.

The creature was a horrific mix of animal and machine, and seemed to realize it was being observed, seemed to know what lay inside the walls of the Glade, seemed to want to get inside and feast on human flesh. Dib felt an icy terror blossom in his chest, expand like a tumor, making it hard to breathe. Even with the memory wipe, he felt sure he'd never seen something so truly awful.

He stepped back, the courage he'd felt the previous evening melting away.

"What is that thing?" he asked. Something shivered in his gut, and he wondered if he'd ever be able to eat again.

"Grievers, we call 'em," Gaz answered. "Nasty bugger, eh? Just be glad the Grievers only come _out_ at night. Be thankful for these walls."

Dib swallowed, wondering how he could ever go out there. His desire to become a Runner had taken a major blow. But he had to do it. Somehow he _knew_ he had to do it. It was such an odd thing to feel, especially after what he'd just seen.

Gaz looked at the window absently. "Now you know what bloody lurks in the Maze, my friend. Now you know this isn't joke time. You've been sent to the Glade, Greenie, and we'll be expectin' ya to survive and help us do what we've been sent here to do."

"And what's that?" Dib asked, even though he was terrified to hear the answer.

Gaz turned to look him dead in the eye. The first traces of dawn had crept up on them, and Dib could see every detail of Gaz's face, her skin tight, her brow creased.

Find our way out, Greenie," Gaz said. "Solve the buggin' Maze and find our way home."

…

A couple of hours later, the doors having reopened, rumbling and grumbling and shaking the ground until they were finished, Dib sat at a worn, tilted picnic table outside the Homestead. All he could think about was the Grievers, what their purpose could be, what they did out there during the night. What it would be like to be attacked by something so terrible.

He tried to get the image out of his head, move on to something else. The Runners. They'd just left without saying a word to anybody, bolting into the Maze at full speed and disappearing around corners. He pictured them in his mind as he picked at his eggs and bacon with a fork, speaking to no one, not even Keef, who ate silently next to him. The poor guy had exhausted himself trying to start a conversation with Dib, who'd refused to respond. All he wanted was to be left alone.

He just didn't get it; his brain was on overload trying to compute the sheer impossibility of the situation. How could a maze, with walls so massive and tall, be so big that dozens of kids hadn't been able to solve it after who knew how long trying? How could such a structure exist? And more importantly, _why_? What could possibly be the purpose of such a thing? Why were they all there? How _long_ had they been there?

Try as he might to avoid it, his mind still kept wandering back to the image of the vicious Griever. Its phantom brother seemed to leap at him every time he blinked or rubbed his eyes.

Dib knew he was a smart kid-he somehow felt it in his bones. But nothing about this place made any sense. Except for one thing. He was supposed to be a Runner. Why did he feel that so strongly? And even now, after seeing what lived in the maze?

A tap on his shoulder jarred him from his thoughts; he looked up to see Letter M standing behind him, arms folded.

"Ain't you lookin' fresh?" Letter M said. "Get a nice view out the window this morning?"

Dib stood, hoping the time for answers had come-or maybe hoping for a distraction from his gloomy thoughts. "Enough to make me want to learn about this place," he said, hoping to avoid provoking the temper he'd seen flare in this guy the day before.

Letter M nodded. "Me and you, shank. The Tour begins now." He started to move but then stopped, holding up a finger. "Ain't no questions till the end, you get me? Ain't got time to jaw with you all day."

"But…" Dib stopped when Letter M's eyebrows shot up. Why did the guy have to be such a jerk? "But tell me everything-I wanna know everything." He'd decided the night before not to tell anyone else how strangely familiar the place seemed, the odd feeling that he'd been there before-that he could _remember_ things about it. Sharing that seemed like a very bad idea.

"I'll tell ya what I wanna tell ya, Greenie. Let's go."

"Can I come?" Keef asked from the table.

Letter M reached down and tweaked the boy's ear.

"Ow!" Keef shrieked.

"Ain't you got a job, slinthead?" Letter M asked. "Lots of sloppin' to do?"

Keef rolled his eyes, then looked at Dib. "Have fun."

"I'll try." He suddenly felt sorry for Keef, wished people would treat the kid better. But there was nothing he could do about it-it was time to go.

He walked away with Letter M, hoping the Tour had officially begun.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

They started at the Box, which was closed at the moment-double doors of metal lying flat on the ground, covered in white paint, faded and cracked. The day had brightened considerably, the shadows stretching in the opposite direction from what Dib had seen yesterday. He still hadn't spotted the sun, but it looked like it was about to pop over the eastern wall at any minute.

Letter M pointed down at the doors. "This here's the Box. Once a month, we get a Newbie like you, never fails. Once a _week_ , we get supplies, clothes, some food. Ain't needin' a lot-pretty much run ourselves in the Glade."

Dib nodded, his whole body itching with the desire to ask questions. _I need some tape to put over my mouth,_ he thought.

"We don't know jack about the Box, you get me?" Letter M continued. "Where it came from, how it gets here, who's in charge. The shanks that sent us here ain't told us nothin'. We got all the electricity we need, grow and raise most of our food, get clothes and such. Tried to send a slinthead Greenie back in the Box one time-thing wouldn't move till we took her out."

Dib wondered what lay under the doors when the Box wasn't there, but held his tongue. He felt such a mixture of emotions-curiosity, frustration, wonder-all laced with the lingering horror of seeing the Griever that morning.

Letter M kept talking, never bothering to look Dib in the eye. "Glade's cut into four sections." He held up his fingers as he counted off the next four words. "Gardens, Blood House, Homestead, Deadheads. You got that?"

Dib hesitated, then shook his head, confused.

Letter M's eyelids fluttered briefly as he continued; he looked like he could think of a thousand things he'd rather be doing right then. He pointed to the northeast corner, where the fields and fruit trees were located. "Garden-where we grow the crops. Water's pumped in through pipes in the ground-always has been, or we'd have starved to death a long time ago. Never rains here. Never." He pointed to the southeast corner, at the animal pens and barn. "Blood House-where we raise and slaughter animals." He pointed at the pitiful living quarters. "Homestead-stupid place is twice as big than when the first of us got here because we keep addin' to it when they send us wood and klunk. Ain't pretty, but it works. Most of us sleep outside anyway."

Dib felt dizzy. So many questions splintered his mind he couldn't keep them straight.

Letter M pointed to the southwest corner, the forest area fronted with several sickly trees and benches. "Call that the Deadheads. Graveyard's back in that corner, in the thicker woods. Ain't much else. You can go there to sit and rest, hang out, whatever." He cleared his throat, as if wanting to change the subjects. "You'll spend the next two weeks working one day apiece for our different job Keepers-until we know what you're best at. Slopper, Bricknick, Bagger, Track-hoe-something'll stick, always does. Come on."

Letter M walked toward the South Door, located between what he'd called the Deadheads and the Blood House. Dib followed, wrinkling his nose up at the sudden smell of dirt and manure coming from the animal pens. _Graveyard?_ He thought. _Why do they need a graveyard in a place full of kids?_ That disturbed him even more than not knowing some of the words Letter M kept saying-words like Slopper and Bagger-that didn't sound so good. He came as close to interrupting Letter M as he'd done so far, but willed his mouth shut.

Frustrated, he turned his attention to the pens in the Blood House area.

Several cows nibbled and chewed at a trough full of greenish hay. Pigs lounged in a muddy pit, an occasionally flickering tail the only sign they were alive. Another pen held sheep, and there were chicken coops and turkey cages as well. Workers bustled about the area, looking as if they'd spent their whole lives on a farm.

 _Why do I remember these animals?_ Dib wondered. Nothing about them seemed new or interesting-he knew what they were called, what they normally ate, what they looked like. Why was stuff like that still lodged in his memory, but not _where_ he'd seen animals before, or with whom? His memory loss was baffling in its complexity.

Letter M pointed to the large barn in the back corner, its red paint long faded to a dull rust color. "Back there's where the Slicers work. Nasty stuff, that. Nasty. If you like blood, you can be a Slicer."

Dib shook his head. Slicer didn't sound good at all. As they kept walking, he focused his attention on the other side of the Glade, the section Letter M had called the Deadheads. The trees grew thicker and denser the farther back in the corner they went, more alive and full of leaves. Dark shadows filled the depths of the wooded area, despite the time of day. Dib looked up, squinting to see that the sun was finally visible, though it looked odd-more orange than it should be. It hit him that this was yet another example of the odd selective memory in his mind.

He returned his gaze to the Deadheads, a glowing disk still floating in his vision. Blinking to clear it away, he suddenly caught the red lights again, flickering and skittering about deep in the darkness of the woods. _What_ are _those things?_ He wondered, irritated that Gaz hadn't answered him earlier. The secrecy was very annoying.

Letter M stopped walking, and Dib was surprised to see they'd reached the South Door; the two walls bracketing the exit towered above them. The thick slabs of gray stone were cracked and covered in ivy, as ancient as anything Dib could imagine. He craned his neck to see the top of the walls far above; his mind spun with the odd sensation that he was looking _down_ , not up. He staggered back a step, awed once again by the structure of his new home, then finally returned his attention to Letter M, who had his back to the exit.

"Out there's the Maze." Letter M jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, then paused. Dib stared in that direction, through the gap in the walls that served as an exit from the Glade. The corridors out there looked much the same as the ones he'd seen from the window by the East Door early that morning. This thought gave him a chill, made him wonder if a Griever might come charging toward them at any minute. He took a step backward before realizing what he was doing. _Calm down,_ he chided himself, embarrassed.

Letter M continued. "Two years, I've been here. Ain't none been here longer. The few before me are already dead." Dib felt his eyes widen, his heart quicken. "Two years we've tried to solve this thing, no luck. Shuckin' walls move out there at night just as much as these here doors. Mappin' it out ain't easy, ain't easy nohow." He nodded toward the concrete-blocked building into which the Runners had disappeared the night before.

Another stab of pain sliced through Dib's head-there were too many things to compute at once. They'd been here two years? The walls moved out in the Maze? How many had died? He stepped forward, wanting to see the Maze for himself, as if the answers were printed on the walls out there.

Letter M held out a hand and pushed Dib in the chest, sent him stumbling backward. "Ain't no goin' out there, shank."

Dib had to suppress his pride. "Why not?"

"You think I sent Gaz to ya before the wake-up just for kicks? Freak, that's the Number One Rule, the only one you'll never be forgiven for breaking. Ain't nobody- _nobody_ -allowed in the Maze except the Runners. Break that rule, and if you ain't killed by the Grievers, we'll kill you ourselves, you get me?"

Dib nodded, grumbling inside, sure that Letter M was exaggerating. Hoping that he was. Either way, if he'd had any doubt about what he'd told Keef the night before, it had now completely vanished. He wanted to be a Runner. He _would_ be a Runner. Deep inside he knew he had to go out there, into the Maze. Despite everything he'd learned and witnessed firsthand, it called to him as much as hunger or thirst.

A movement up on the left wall of the South Door caught his attention. Startled, he reacted quickly, looking just in time to see a flash of silver. A patch of ivy shook as the thing disappeared into it.

Dib pointed up at the wall. "What was that?" he asked before he could be shut down again.

Letter M didn't bother looking. "No questions till the end, shank. How many times I gotta tell ya?" He paused, then let out a sigh. "Beetle blades-it's how the Creators watch us. You better not-"

He was cut off by a booming, ringing alarm that sounded from all directions. Dib clamped his hands to his ears, looking around as the siren blared, his heart about to thump its way out of his chest. But when he focused back on Letter M, he stopped.

Letter M wasn't acting scared-he appeared… confused. Surprised. The alarm clanged through the air.

"What's going on?" Dib asked. Relief flooded his chest that his tour guide didn't seem to think the world was about to end-but even so, Dib was getting tired of being hit by waves of panic.

"That's weird" was all Letter M said as he scanned the Glade, squinting. Dib noticed people in the Blood House pens glancing around, apparently just as confused. One shouted to Letter M, a short, skinny green-haired kid drenched in mud.

"What's up with that?" the boy asked, looking to Dib for some reason.

"I don't know," Letter M murmured back in a distant voice.

But Dib couldn't stand it anymore. "Letter M! What's going on?"

"The Box, shuck-face, the Box!" was all Letter M said before he set off for the middle of the Glade at a brisk pace that almost looked to Dib like panic.

"What about it?" Dib demanded, hurrying to catch up. _Talk to me!_ He wanted to scream at him.

But Letter M didn't answer or slow down, and as they got closer to the box Dib could see that dozens of kids were running around the courtyard. He spotted Gaz and called to her, trying to suppress his rising fear, telling himself things would be okay, that there had to be a reasonable explanation.

"Gaz, what's going on!" he yelled.

Gaz glanced over at him, then nodded and walked over, strangely calm in the middle of the chaos. She swatted Dib on the back. "Means a bloody Newbie's comin' up in the Box." She paused as if expecting Dib to be impressed. "Right _now_."

"So?" As Dib looked more closely at Gaz, he realized that what he'd mistaken for calm was actually disbelief-maybe even excitement.

"So?" Gaz replied, her jaw dropping slightly. "Greenie, we've never had two Newbies show up in the same _month_ , much less two days in a row."

And with that, she ran off toward the Homestead.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

The alarm finally stopped after blaring for a full two minutes. A crowd was gathered in the middle of the courtyard around the steel doors through which Dib was startled to realize he'd arrived just yesterday. _Yesterday?_ He thought. _Was that really just_ yesterday _?_

Someone tapped him on the elbow; he looked over to see Keef by his side again.

"How goes it, Greenbean?" Keef asked.

"Fine," he replied, even though nothing could've been further from the truth. He pointed toward the doors of the Box. "Why is everyone freaking out? Isn't this how you all got here?"

Keef shrugged. "I don't know-guess it's always been real regular-like. One a month, every month, same day. Maybe whoever's in charge realized you were nothing but a big mistake, sent someone to replace you." He giggled as he elbowed Dib in the ribs, a high-pitched snicker that inexplicably made Dib like him more.

Dib shot his new friend a fake glare. "You're annoying. Seriously."

"Yeah, but we're buddies, now, right?" Keef fully laughed this time, a squeaky sort of snort.

"Looks like you're not giving me much choice on that one." But truth was, he needed a friend, and Keef would do just fine.

The kid folded his arms, looking very satisfied. "Glad that's settled, Greenie. Everyone needs a buddy in this place."

Dib grabbed Keef by the collar, joking around. "Okay, _buddy_ , then call me by my name. Dib. Or I'll throw you down the hole after the Box leaves." That triggered a thought in his head as he released Keef. "Wait a minute, have you guys ever-"

"Tried it," Keef interrupted before Dib could finish.

"Tried what?"

"Going down in the Box after it makes a delivery," Keef answered. "It won't do it. Won't go down until it's completely empty."

Dib remembered Letter M telling him that very thing. "I already knew that, but what about-"

"Tried it."

Dib had to suppress a groan-this was getting irritating. "Man you're hard to talk to. Tried what?"

"Going through the hole _after_ the Box goes down. Can't. Doors will open, but there's just emptiness, blackness, nothing. No ropes, nada. Can't do it."

How could that be possible? "Did you-"

"Tried it."

Dib did groan this time. "Okay, what?"

"We threw some things into the hole. Never heard them land. It goes on for a long time."

Dib paused before he replied, not wanting to be cut off again. "What are you, a mind reader or something?" He threw as much sarcasm as he could into the comment.

"Just brilliant, that's all." Keef winked.

"Keef, never wink at me again." Dib said it with a smile. Keef _was_ a little annoying, but there was something about him that made things seem less terrible. Dib took a deep breath and looked back toward the crowd around the hole. "So, how long until the delivery gets here?"

"Usually takes about half an hour after the alarm."

Dib thought for a second. There _had_ to be something they hadn't tried. "You're sure about the hole? Have you ever…" He paused, waiting for the interruption, but none came. "Have you ever tried making a rope?"

"Yeah, they did. With the ivy. Longest one they could possibly make. Let's just say that little experiment didn't go so well."

"What do you mean?" _What now?_ Dib thought.

"I wasn't here, but I heard the kid who volunteered to do it had only gone down about ten feet when something swooshed through the air and cut her clean in half."

"What?" Dib laughed. "I don't believe that for a second."

"Oh, yeah, smart guy? I've seen the sucker's bones. Cut in half like a knife through whipped cream. They keep her in a box to remind future kids not to be so stupid."

Dib waited for Keef to laugh or smile, thinking it had to be a joke-who ever heard of someone being cut in half? But it never came. "You're serious?"

Keef just stared back at him. "I don't lie, Gree-uh, Dib. Come on, let's go over and see who's coming up. I can't believe you only have to be the Greenbean for one day. Klunkhead."

As they walked over, Dib asked the one question he hadn't posed yet. "How do you know it's not just supplies or whatever?"

"The alarm doesn't go off when that happens," Keef answered, simply. "The supplies come up at the same time every week. Hey, look." Keef stopped and pointed to someone in the crowd. It was Torque, staring dead at them.

"Shuck it," Keef said. "He does _not_ like you, man."

"Yeah," Dib muttered. "Figured that out already." And the feeling was mutual.

Keef nudged Dib with his elbow and the boys resumed their walk to the edge of the crowd, then waited in silence; any questions Dib had were forgotten. He'd lost the urge to talk after seeing Torque.

Keef apparently hadn't. "Why don't you go ask him what his problem is?" he asked, trying to sound tough.

Dib wanted to think he was brave enough, but that currently sounded like the worst idea in history. "Well, for one, he has a lot more allies than I do. Not a good person to pick a fight with."

"Yeah, but you're smarter. And I bet you're quicker. You could take him and all his buddies."

One of the girls standing in front of them looked back over her shoulder, annoyance crossing her face as she whipped her long blonde hair sassily.

 _Must be a friend of Torque's,_ Dib thought. "Would you shut it?" he hissed at Keef.

A door closed behind them; Dib turned to see Letter M and Gaz heading over from the Homestead. They both looked exhausted.

Seeing them brought Iggins back to his mind-along with the horrific image of him writhing in bed. "Keef, man, you gotta tell me what this whole Changing business is. What have they been _doing_ in there with that poor Iggins kid?"

Keef shrugged. "Don't know the details. The Grievers do bad things to you, make your whole body go through something awful. When it's over, you're… different."

Dib sensed a chance to finally have a solid answer. "Different? What do you mean? And what does it have to do with the Grievers? Is that what Torque meant by 'being stung'?"

"Shh." Keef held a finger to his mouth.

Dib almost screamed in frustration, but he kept quiet. He resolved to make Keef tell him later, whether the guy wanted to or not.

Letter M and Gaz had reached the crowd and pushed themselves to the front, standing right over the doors that led to the Box. Everyone quieted, and for the first time, Dib noted the grinds and rattles of the rising lift, reminding him of his own nightmarish trip the day before. Sadness washed over him, almost as if he were reliving those few terrible minutes of awakening in darkness to the memory loss. He felt sorry for whoever this new kid was, going through the same things.

A muffled boom announced that the bizarre elevator had arrived.

Dib watched in anticipation as Gaz and Letter M took positions on opposite sides of the shaft doors-a crack split the metal square right down the middle. Simple hook-handles were attached on both sides, and together they yanked them apart. With a metallic scrape the doors were opened, and a puff of dust from the surrounding stone rose into the air.

Complete silence settled over the Gladers. As Gaz leaned over to get a better look into the Box, the faint bleating of a goat in the distance echoed across the courtyard. Dib leaned forward as far as he possibly could, hoping to get a glance at the newcomer.

With a sudden jerk, Gaz pushed herself back into an upright position, her face scrunched up in confusion. "Holy…," she breathed, looking around at nothing in particular.

By this time, Letter M had gotten a good look as well, with a similar reaction. "No way," he murmured, almost in a trance.

A chorus of questions filled the air as everyone began pushing forward to get a look into the small opening. _What do they see down there?_ Dib wondered. _What do they see!_ He felt a sliver of muted fear, similar to what he'd experienced that morning when he stepped toward the window to see the Griever.

"Hold on!" Letter M yelled, silencing everyone. "Just hold on!"

"Well, what's wrong?" someone yelled back.

Letter M stood up. "Two Newbies in two days," he said, almost in a whisper. "Now this. Two years, nothing different, now this." Then, for some reason, he looked straight at Dib. "What's goin' on here, Greenie?"

Dib stared back, confused, his face turning bright red, his gut clenching. "How am I supposed to know?"

"Why don't you just tell us what the shuck is down there, Letter M?" Torque called out. There were more murmurs and another surge forward.

"You shanks shut up!" Letter M yelled. "Tell 'em, Gaz."

Gaz looked down in the Box one more time, then faced the crowd, gravely.

"It's an Irken," she said.

Everyone started talking at once; Dib only caught pieces here and there.

"An _Irken_?"

"Is it a boy or a girl?"

"What does it look like?"

"How old is it?"

Dib was drowning in a sea of confusion. An _Irken_? He hadn't even thought about why the Glade only had humans, no Irkens, as he could barely just remember them. Hadn't even had the chance to notice, really. _Who is it?_ He wondered. _Why-_

Gaz shushed them again. "That's not bloody half of it," she said, then pointed down into the Box. "I think it's dead."

…

A couple of boys and girls grabbed some ropes made from ivy vines and lowered Letter M and Gaz into the Box so they could retrieve the Irken's body. A mood of reserved shock had come over most of the Gladers, who were milling about with solemn faces, kicking loose rocks and not saying much at all. No one dared admit they couldn't wait to see the Irken, but Dib assumed they were all just as curious as he was.

Torque was one of the boys holding on to the ropes, ready to hoist it, Letter M, and Gaz out of the Box. Dib watched him closely. His eyes were laced with something dark-almost a sick fascination. A gleam that made Dib suddenly more scared of him than he'd been minutes earlier.

From deep in the shaft came Letter M's voice shouting that they were ready, and Torque and a couple of others started pulling up on the rope. A few grunts later and the Irken's lifeless body was dragged out, across the edge of the door and onto one of the stone blocks making up the ground of the Glade. Everyone immediately ran forward, forming a packed crowd around it, a palpable excitement hovering in the air. But Dib stayed back. The eerie silence gave him the creeps, as if they'd just opened up a recently laid tomb.

Despite his own curiosity, Dib didn't bother trying to force his way through to get a look-the bodies were too tightly squeezed together. But he _had_ caught a glimpse of it before being blocked off. It was thin, but not too small. Maybe three foot seven, from what he could tell. It looked like it could be twelve or thirteen years old, and it's antennae were tar black. But the thing that had really stood out to him was it's skin: green, like a greenbean.

Gaz and Letter M scrambled out of the Box after it, then forced their way through to the Irken's lifeless body, the crowd re-forming behind to cut them off from Dib's view. Only a few seconds later, the group parted again, and Gaz was pointing straight at Dib.

"Greenie, get over here," she said, not bothering to be polite about it.

Dib's heart jumped into his throat; his hands started to sweat. What did they want him for? Things just kept getting worse and worse. He forced himself to walk forward, trying to seem innocent without acting like someone who was guilty who was trying to act innocent. _Oh, calm it,_ he told himself. _You haven't done anything wrong._ But he had a strange feeling that maybe he had without realizing it.

The boys and girls lining the path to Gaz and the Irken glared at him as he walked past, as if he were responsible for the entire mess of the Maze and the Glade and the Grievers. Dib refused to make eye contact with any of them, afraid of looking guilty.

He approached Gaz and Letter M, who both knelt beside the Irken. Dib, not wanting to meet their stares, concentrated on the Irken; despite its paleness, it was really pretty. More than pretty. Beautiful. By the design of the antennae, Dib could tell it was a male. He had silky antennae, flawless skin, perfect lips, long legs. He was wearing a maroon and black striped sweater with pink sleeves, black slacks, black gloves, and black boots. His PAK was grey, with three pink spots. He was perfect. It made him sick to think that way about a dead Irken, but he couldn't look away. _Won't be that way for long,_ he thought with a queasy twist in his stomach. _He'll start rotting soon._ He was surprised at having such a morbid thought.

"You know this Irken, shank?" Letter M asked, sounding ticked off.

Dib was shocked by the question. " _Know_ him? Of course I don't know him. I don't know anyone. Except for you guys."

"That's not…," Letter M began, then stopped with a frustrated sigh. "I meant does he look _familiar_ at all? Any kind of feelin' you've seen him before?"

"No. Nothing." Dib shifted, looked down at his feet, then back at the Irken.

Letter M's forehead creased. "You're sure?" He looked like he didn't believe a word Dib said, seemed almost angry.

 _What could he possibly think I have to do with this?_ Dib thought. He met Letter M's glare evenly and answered the only way he knew how. " _Yes._ Why?"

"Shuck it," Letter M muttered, looking back down at the Irken. "Can't be a coincidence. Two days, two Greenies, one alive, one dead."

Then Letter M's words started to make sense and panic flared in Dib. "You don't think I…" He couldn't even finish the sentence.

"Slim it, Greenie," Gaz said. "We're not sayin' you bloody killed the Irken."

Dib's mind was spinning. He was sure he'd never seen him before-but then the slightest hint of doubt crept into his mind. "I swear he doesn't look familiar at all," he said anyway. He'd had enough accusations.

"Are you-"

Before Gaz could finish, the Irken shot up into a sitting position. As he sucked in a huge breath, his eyes snapped open and he blinked, looking around at the crowd surrounding him. Letter M cried out and fell backward. Gaz gasped and jumped up, stumbling away from him. Dib didn't move, his gaze locked on the Irken, frozen in fear.

Burning maroon eyes darted back and forth as he took deep breaths. His green lips trembled as he mumbled something over and over, indecipherable. Then he spoke one sentence-his voice hollow and haunted, but clear.

" _Everything is going to change._ "

Dib stared in wonder as his eyes rolled up into his head and he fell back to the ground. His right fist shot into the air as he landed, staying rigid after he grew still, pointing toward the sky. Clutched in his hand was a wadded piece of paper.

Dib tried to swallow but his mouth was too dry. Gaz ran forward and pulled his fingers apart, grabbing the paper. With shaking hands she unfolded it, then dropped to her knees, spreading out the note on the ground. Dib moved up behind her to get a look.

Scrawled across the paper in thick black letters were five words;

 **He's the last one.**

 **Ever.**


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

An odd moment of complete silence hung over the Glade. It was as if a supernatural wind had swept through the place and sucked out all sound. Gaz had read the message aloud for those who couldn't see the paper, but instead of erupting in confusion, the Gladers all stood dumbfounded.

Dib would've expected shouts and questions, arguments. But no one said a word; all eyes were glued to the Irken, now lying there as if asleep, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. Contrary to their original conclusion, he was very much alive.

Gaz stood, and Dib hoped for an explanation, a voice of reason, a calming presence. But all she did was crumple the note in her fist, veins popping from her skin as she squeezed it, and Dib's heart sank. He wasn't sure why, but the situation made him very uneasy.

Letter M cupped his hands around his mouth. "Med-jacks!"

Dib wondered what that word meant-he knew he'd heard it before-but then he was abruptly knocked aside. A boy and a girl were pushing their way through the crowd-the boy was partly bald, had brown eyes, and was wearing an orange shirt with white khakis and white shoes. The girl had light purple hair in three ponytails, had gold eyes, an overbite with braces, and she was wearing an orange and purple striped dress and black shoes. Dib could only hope they'd make some sense of everything.

"So what do we do with him?" The boy asked, his voice much higher pitched than Dib expected.

"How should I know?" Letter M said. "You two are the Med-jacks-figure it out."

 _Med-jacks_ , Dib repeated in his head, a light going off. _They must be the closest thing they have to doctors._ The girl was already on the ground, kneeling beside the Irken, feeling for his pulse and leaning over to listen to his heartbeat.

"Who said Gretchen had first shot at him?" a girl yelled from the crowd. There were several barks of laughter. "I'm next!"

 _How can they joke around?_ Dib thought. _The guy's half dead._ He felt sick inside.

Letter M's eyes narrowed; his mouth pulled into a tight grin that didn't look like it had anything to do with humor. "If anybody touches this Irken," Letter M said, "you're gonna spend the night sleepin' with the Grievers in the Maze. Banished, no questions." He paused, turning in a slow circle as if he wanted every person to see his face. "Ain't nobody better touch him! Nobody!"

It was the first time Dib had actually liked hearing something come out of Letter M's mouth.

The girl who'd been referred to as a Med-jack- _Gretchen_ , if the spectator had been correct-stood up from her examination. "He seems fine. Breathing okay, normal heartbeat. Though it's a bit slow. Your guess is as good as mine, but I'd say he's in a coma. Melvin, let's take him to the Homestead."

Her partner, Melvin, stepped over to grab him by the arms while Gretchen took hold of his feet. Dib wished he could do more than watch-with every passing second, he doubted more and more that what he'd said earlier was true. He _did_ seem familiar; he felt a connection to him, though it was impossible to grasp in his mind. The idea made him nervous, and he looked around, as if someone might've heard his thoughts.

"On the count of three," Melvin was saying. "One… two… three!"

They lifted him with a jerk, almost throwing him up in the air-he was obviously a lot lighter than they'd thought-and Dib almost shouted at them to be more careful.

"Guess we'll have to see what he does," Melvin said to no one in particular. "We can feed him soupy stuff if he doesn't wake up soon."

"Just watch him closely," Gaz said. "Must be something special about him or they wouldn't have sent him here."

Dib's gut clenched. He knew that he and the Irken were connected somehow. They'd come a day apart, he seemed familiar, he had a consuming urge to become a Runner despite learning so many terrible things. ... What did it all mean?

Letter M leaned over to look in his face once more before they carried him off. "Put him next to Iggins' room, and keep a watch on him day and night. Nothin' better happen without me knowing about it. I don't care if he talks in his sleep or takes a klunk-you come tell me."

"Yeah," Melvin muttered; then he and Gretchen shuffled off to the Homestead, the Irken's body bouncing as they went, and the other Gladers finally started to talk about it, scattering as theories bubbled through the air.

Dib watched all this in mute contemplation. This strange connection he felt wasn't his alone. The not-so-veiled accusations thrown at him only a few minutes before proved that the others suspected something, too, but what? He was already completely confused-being blamed for things only made him feel worse. As if reading his thoughts, Letter M walked over and grabbed him by the shoulder.

"You ain't never seen him before?" he asked.

Dib hesitated before he answered. "Not... no, not that I remember." He hoped his shaky voice didn't betray his doubts. What if he _did_ know him somehow? What would that mean?

"You're sure?" Gaz prodded, standing right behind Letter M.

"I... no, I don't think so. Why are you grilling me like this?" All Dib wanted right then was for night to fall, so he could be alone, go to sleep.

Letter M shook his head, then turned back to Gaz, releasing his grip on Dib's shoulder. "Something's whacked. Call a Gathering."

He said it quietly enough that Dib didn't think anyone else heard, but it sounded ominous. Then the leader and Gaz walked off, and Dib was relieved to see Keef coming his way.

"Keef, what's a Gathering?"

He looked proud to know the answer. "It's when the Keepers meet-they only call one when something weird or terrible happens."

"Well, I guess today fits both of those categories pretty well." Dib's stomach rumbled, interrupting his thoughts. "I didn't finish my breakfast-can we get something somewhere? I'm starving."

Keef looked up at him, his eyebrows raised. "Seeing that Irken wig out made you hungry? You must be more psycho than I thought."

Dib sighed. "Just get me some food."

…

The kitchen was small but had everything one needed to make a hearty meal. A big oven, a microwave, a dishwasher, a couple of tables. It seemed old and run-down but clean. Seeing the appliances and the familiar layout made Dib feel as if memories-real, solid memories-were right on the edge of his mind. But again, the essential parts were missing-names, faces, places, events. It was maddening.

"Take a seat," Keef said. "I'll get you something-but I swear this is the last time. Just be glad Spuddy isn't around-he hates it when we raid his fridge."

Dib was relieved they were alone. As Keef fumbled about with dishes and things from the fridge, Dib pulled out a wooden chair from a small plastic table and sat down. "This is crazy. How can this be for real? Somebody sent us here. Somebody evil."

Keef paused. "Quit complaining. Just accept it and don't think about it."

"Yeah, right." Dib looked out a window. This seemed a good time to bring up one of the million questions bouncing through his brain. "So where does the electricity come from?"

"Who cares? I'll take it."

 _What a surprise,_ Dib thought. _No answer._

Keef brought two plates with sandwiches and carrots over to the table. The bread was thick and white, the carrots a sparkling, bright orange. Dib's stomach begged him to hurry; he picked up his sandwich and started devouring it.

"Oh, man," he mumbled with a full mouth. "At least the food is good."

Dib was able to eat the rest of his meal without another word from Keef. And he was lucky that the kid didn't feel like talking, because despite the complete weirdness of everything that had happened within Dib's known reach of memory, he felt calm again. His stomach full, his energy replenished, his mind thankful for a few moments of silence, he decided that from then on he'd quit whining and deal with things.

After his last bite, Dib sat back in his chair. "So, Keef," he said as he wiped his mouth with a napkin. "What do I have to do to become a Runner?"

"Not that again." Keef looked up from his plate, where he'd been picking at the crumbs. He let out a low, gurgly burp that make Dib cringe.

"Letter M said I'd start my trials soon with the different Keepers. So, when do I get a shot with the Runners?" Dib waited patiently to get some sort of actual information from Keef.

Keef rolled his eyes dramatically, leaving no doubt as to how stupid an idea he thought that would be. "They should be back in a few hours. Why don't you ask _them_?"

Dib ignored the sarcasm, digging deeper. "What do they do when they get back every night? What's up with the concrete building?"

"Maps. They meet right when they get back, before they forget anything."

 _Maps?_ Dib was confused. "But if they're trying to make a map, don't they have paper to write on while they're out there?" Maps. This intrigued him more than anything else he'd heard in a while. It was the first thing suggesting a potential solution to their predicament.

"Of course they do, but there's still stuff they need to talk about and discuss and analyze and all that klunk. Plus"-the boy rolled his eyes-"they spend most of their time running, not writing. That's why they're called _Runners_."

Dib thought about the Runners and the maps. Could the Maze really be so massively huge that even after two years they still hadn't found a way out? It seemed impossible. But then, he remembered what Letter M said about the moving walls. What if all of them were sentenced to live here until they died?

 _Sentenced_. The word made him feel a rush of panic, and the spark of hope the meal had brought him fizzled with a silent hiss.

"Keef, what if we're all criminals? I mean-what if we're murderers or something?"

"Huh?" Keef looked up at him as if he were a crazy person. "Where did that happy thought come from?"

"Think about it. Our memories are wiped. We live inside a place that seems to have no way out, surrounded by bloodthirsty monster-guards. Doesn't that sound like a prison to you?" As he said it out loud, it sounded more and more possible. Nausea trickled into his chest.

"Dib, we're only kids, dude." Keef frowned. "You really think we all did something that would send us all to prison for the rest of our lives?"

"I don't care what we did or didn't do. Either way, we _have_ been sent to a prison. Does this seem like a vacation to you?" _Oh, man,_ Dib thought. _Please let me be wrong._

Keef thought for a moment. "I don't know. It's better than-"

"Yeah, I know, living in a pile of klunk." Dib stood up and pushed his chair back under the table. He like Keef, but trying to have an intelligent conversation with him was impossible. Not to mention frustrating and irritating. "Go make yourself another sandwich-I'm going exploring. See ya tonight."

He stepped out of the kitchen and into the courtyard before Keef could offer to join him. The Glade had gone back to business as usual-people working the jobs, the doors of the Box closed, sun shining down. Any signs of a crazed Irken bearing notes of doom had disappeared.

Having had his tour cut short, he decided to take a walk around the Glade on his own and get a better look and feel for the place. He headed out for the northeast corner, toward the big rows of tall green cornstalks that looked ready to harvest. There was other stuff, too: tomatoes, lettuce, peas, a lot more that Dib didn't recognize.

He took a deep breath, loving the fresh whiff of dirt and growing plants. He was almost positive the smell would bring back some sort of pleasant memory, but nothing came. As he got closer, he saw that several boys and girls were weeding and picking in the small fields. One of the boys waved at him with a smiled. An actual smiled.

 _Maybe this place won't be so bad after all,_ Dib thought. _Not everyone here could be a jerk._ He took another deep breath of the pleasant air and pulled himself out of his thoughts-there was a lot more he wanted to see.

Next was the southeast corner, where shabbily built wooden fences held in several cows, goats, sheep, and pigs. No horses, though. _That sucks,_ Dib thought. _Riders would definitely be faster than Runners._ As he approached, he figured he must've dealt with animals in his life before the Glade. Their smell, their sound-they seemed very familiar to him.

The smell wasn't quite as nice as the crops, but still, he imagined it could've been a lot worse. As he explored the area, he realized more and more how well the Gladers kept up the place, how clean it was. He was impressed by how organized they must be, how hard they all must work. He could only imagine how truly horrific a place like this could be if everyone went lazy and stupid.

Finally, he made it to the southeast quarter, near the forest.

He was approaching the sparse, skeletal trees in front of the denser woods when he was startled by a blur of movement at his feet, followed by a hurried set of clacking sounds. He looked down just in time to see the sun flash off something metallic-a toy rat-scurrying past him and toward the small forest. The thing was already ten feet away by the time he realized it wasn't a rat at all-it was more like a lizard, with at least six legs scuttling the long silver torso along.

A beetle blade. _It's how they watch us,_ Letter M had said.

He caught a gleam of red light sweeping the ground in front of the creature as if it came from its eyes. Logic told him it had to be his mind playing tricks on him, but he swore he saw the word _WICKED_ scrawled down its rounded back in large green letters. Something so strange had to be investigated.

Dib sprinted after the scurrying spy, and in a matter of seconds he entered the copse of trees and the world became dark.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

He couldn't believe how quickly the light disappeared. From the Glade proper, the forest didn't look that big, maybe a couple of acres. Yet the trees were tall with sturdy trunks, packed tightly together, the canopy up above thick with leaves. The air around him had a greenish, muted hue, as if only several minutes of twilight remained in the day.

It was somehow beautiful and creepy, all at once.

Moving as fast as he could, Dib crashed through the heavy foliage, thin branches slapping at his face. He ducked to avoid a low hanging limb, almost falling. Reaching out, he caught hold of a branch and swung himself forward to regain his balance. A thick bed of leaves and fallen twigs crunched underneath him.

All the while, his eyes stayed riveted on the beetle blade scuttling across the forest floor. Deeper it went, its red light glowing brighter as the surroundings darkened.

Dib had charged thirty or forty feet into the woods, dodging and ducking and losing ground with every second, when the beetle blade jumped onto a particularly large tree and scooted up its trunk. But by the time Dib reached the tree, any sign of the creature had vanished. It had disappeared deep within the foliage-almost as if it had never existed.

He'd lost the sucker.

"Shuck it," Dib whispered, almost as a joke. Almost. As strange as it seemed, the word felt natural on his lips, like he was already morphing into a Glader.

A twig snapped somewhere to his right and he jerked his head in that direction. He stilled his breath, listened.

Another snap, this time louder, almost like someone had broken a stick over their knee.

"Who's there?" Dib yelled out, a tingle of fear shooting across his shoulders. His voice bounced off the canopy of leaves above him, echoing through the air. He stayed frozen, rooted to the spot as all grew silent, except for the whistling song of a few birds in the distance. But no one answered his call. Nor did he hear any more sounds from that direction.

Without really thinking it through, Dib head towards the noise he'd heard. Not bothering to hide his progress, he pushed aside branches as he walked, letting them whip back to position when he passed. He squinted, willed his eyes to work in the growing darkness, wishing he had a flashlight. He thought about flashlights and his memory. Once again, he remembered a tangible thing from his past, but couldn't assign it to any specific time or place, couldn't associate it with any other person or event. Frustrating.

"Anybody there?" he asked again, feeling a little calmer since the noise hadn't repeated. It was probably just an animal, maybe another beetle blade. Just in case, he called out, "It's me, Dib. The new guy. Well, second-newest guy."

He winced and shook his head, hoping now that no one _was_ there. He sounded like a complete idiot.

Again, no reply.

He stepped around a large oak and pulled up short. An icy shiver ran down his back. He'd reached the graveyard.

The clearing was small, maybe thirty square feet, and covered with a thick layer of leafy weeds growing close to the ground. Dib could see several clumsily prepared wooden crosses poking through this growth, their horizontal pieces lashed to the upright ones with a splintery twine. The grave markers had been painted white, but by someone in an obvious hurry-gelled globs covered them and bare streaks of wood showed through. Names had been carved into the wood.

Dib stepped up, hesitantly, to the closest one and knelt down to get a look. The light was so dull now that he almost felt as if he were looking through black mist. Even the birds had quieted, like they'd gone to bed for the night, and the sound of insects was barely noticeable, or at least much less than normal. For the first time, Dib realized how humid it was in the woods, the damp air already beading sweat on his forehead, the backs of his hands.

He leaned closer to the first cross. It looked fresh and bore the name Poonchy-the _y_ extra small and right at the edge because the carver hadn't estimated well how much room he'd need.

 _Poonchy_ , Dib thought, feeling an unexpected but detached sorrow. _What's your story? Keef annoy you to death?_

He stood and walked over to another cross, this one almost completely overgrown with weeds, the ground firm at its base. Whoever it was, they must've been one of the first to die, because their grave looked the oldest. The name was Alex.

Dib looked around and saw there were a dozen or so other graves. A couple of them appeared to be just as fresh as the first one he'd examined. A silvery glint caught his attention. It was different from the scuttling beetle that had led him to the forest, but just as odd. He moved through the markers until he got to a grave covered with a sheet of grimy plastic or glass, its edges slimed with filth. He squinted, trying to make out what was on the other side, then gasped when it came into focus. It was a window into another grave-one that had the dusty remnants of a rotting body.

Completely creeped out, Dib leaned closer to get a better look anyway, curious. The tomb was smaller than usual-only the top _half_ of the deceased person lay inside. He remembered Keef's story about the girl who'd tried to rappel down the dark hole of the Box after it had descended, only to be cut in two by something slicing through the air. Words were etched on the glass; Dib could barely read them:

 **Let this half-shank be a warning to all:**

 **You can't escape through the Box Hole.**

Dib felt the odd urge to snicker-it seemed too ridiculous to be true. But he was also disgusted with himself for being so shallow and glib. Shaking his head, he had stepped aside to read more names of the dead when another twig broke, this time straight in front of him, right behind the trees on the other side of the graveyard.

Then another snap. Then another. Coming closer. And the darkness was thick.

"Who's out there?" he called, his voice shaky and hollow-it sounded as if he were speaking inside an insulated tunnel. "Seriously, this is stupid." He hated to admit to himself just how terrified he was.

Instead of answering, the person gave up all pretense of stealth and started running, crashing through the forest line around the clearing of the graveyard, circling toward the spot where Dib stood. He froze, panic overtaking him. Now only a few feet away, the visitor grew louder and louder until Dib caught a shadowed glimpse of a boy limping along in a strange, lilting run.

"Who the he-"

The boy burst through the trees before Dib could finish. He saw only a flash of pale skin and enormous eyes-the haunted image of an apparition-and cried out, tried to run, but it was too late. The figure leaped into the air and was on top of him, slamming into his shoulders, gripping him with strong hands. Dib crashed to the ground; he felt a grave marker dig into his back before it snapped in two, burning a deep scratch along his flesh.

He pushed and swatted at his attacker, a relentless jumble of skin and bones cavorting on top of him as he tried to gain purchase. It seemed like a monster, a horror from a nightmare, but Dib knew it had to be a Glader, someone who'd completely lost his mind. He heard teeth snapping open and closed, a horrific clack, clack, clack. Then he felt the jarring dagger of pain as the boy's mouth found a home, bit deeply into Dib's shoulder.

Dib screamed, the pain like a burst of adrenaline through his blood. He planted the palms of his hands against his attacker's chest and pushed, straightening his arms until his muscles strained against the struggling figure above him. Finally the kid fell back; a sharp crack filled the air as another grave marker met its demise.

Dib squirmed away on his hands and feet, sucking in breaths of air, and got his first good look at the crazed attacker.

It was the sick boy.

It was Iggins.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

It looked as if Iggins had recovered only slightly since Dib had seen him in Homestead. He wore nothing but shorts, his whiter-than-white skin stretched across his bones like a sheet wrapped tightly around a bundle of sticks. Ropelike veins ran along his body, pulsing and green-but less pronounced than the day before. His bloodshot eyes fell upon Dib as if he were seeing his next meal.

Iggins crouched, ready to spring for another attack. At some point a knife had made an appearance, gripped in his right hand. Dib was filled with a queasy fear, disbelief that this was happening at all.

" _Iggins!_ "

Dib looked toward the voice, surprised to see Letter M standing at the edge of the graveyard, a mere phantom in the fading light. Relief flooded Dib's body-Letter M held a large bow, an arrow cocked for the kill, pointed straight at Iggins.

"Iggins," Letter M repeated. "Stop right now, or you ain't gonna see tomorrow."

Dib looked back at Iggins, who stared viciously at Letter M, his tongue darting between his lips to wet them. _What could possibly be wrong with that kid?_ Dib thought. The boy had turned into a monster. Why?

"If you kill me," Iggins shrieked, spittle flying from his mouth, far enough to hit Dib in the face, "you'll get the wrong guy." He snapped his gaze back to Dib. "He's the shank you wanna kill." His voice was full of madness.

"Don't be stupid, Iggins," Letter M said, his voice calm as he continued to aim the arrow. "Dib just got here-ain't nothing to worry about. You're still buggin' from the Changing. You should've never left your bed.

"He's not one of us!" Iggins shouted. "I saw him-he's… he's bad. We have to kill him! Let me gut him!"

Dib took an involuntary step backward, horrified by what Iggins had said. What did he mean, he'd seen him? Why did he think Dib was bad?

Letter M hadn't moved his weapon an inch, still aiming for Iggins. "You leave that to me and the Keepers to figure out, shuck-face." His hands were perfectly steady as he held the bow, almost as if he had propped it against a branch for support. "Right now, back your scrawny butt down and get to the Homestead."

"He'll wanna take us home," Iggins said. "He'll wanna get us out of the Maze. Better we all jumped off the Cliff! Better we tore each other's guts out!"

"What are you talking-" Dib began.

" _Shut your face!_ " Iggins screamed. "Shut your ugly, traitorous face!"

"Iggins," Letter M said calmly. "I'm gonna count to three."

"He's bad, he's bad, he's bad…," Iggins was whispering now, almost chanting. He swayed back and forth, switching the knife from hand to hand, eyes glued on Dib.

"One."

"Bad, bad, bad, bad, bad…" Iggins smiled; his teeth seemed to glow, greenish in the pale light.

Dib wanted to look away, get out of there. But he couldn't move; he was too mesmerized, too scared.

"Two." Letter M's voice was louder, filled with warning.

"Iggins," Dib said, trying to make sense of it all. "I'm not… I don't even know what-"

Iggins screamed, a strangled gurgle of madness, and leaped into the air, slashing out with his blade.

" _Three!_ " Letter M shouted.

There was the sound of snapping wire. The _woosh_ of an object slicing through the air. The sickening, wet _thunk_ of it finding a home.

Iggins' head snapped violently to the left, twisting his body until he landed on his stomach, his feet pointed toward Dib. He made no sound.

Dib jumped to his feet and stumbled forward. The long shaft of the arrow stuck from Iggins' cheek, the blood surprisingly less than Dib had suspected, but seeping out all the same. Black in the darkness, like oil. The only movement was Iggins' right pinky finger, twitching. Dib fought the urge to puke. Was Iggins dead because of him? Was it his fault?

"Come on," Letter M said. "Baggers'll take care of him tomorrow."

 _What just happened here?_ Dib thought, the world tilting around him as he stared at the lifeless body. _What did I ever do to this kid?_

He looked up, wanting answers, but Letter M was already gone, a trembling branch the only sign he'd ever stood there in the first place.

…

Dib squeezed his eyes against the blinding light of the sun as he emerged from the woods. He was limping, his ankle screaming in pain, though he had no memory of hurting it. He held one hand carefully over the area where he'd been bitten; the other clutched his stomach as if that would prevent what Dib now felt was an inevitable barf. The image of Iggins' head popped into his mind, cocked at an unnatural angle, blood running down the shaft of the arrow until it collected, dripped, splattered on the ground. …

The image of it was the last straw.

He fell to his knees by one of the scraggly trees on the outskirts of the forest and threw up, retching as he coughed and spat out every last morsel of the acidic, nasty bile from his stomach. His whole body shook, and it seemed like the vomiting would never end.

And then, as if his brain were mocking him, trying to make it worse, he had a thought.

He'd now been at the Glade for roughly twenty-four hours. One full day. That was it. And look at all the things that had happened. All the terrible things.

Surely it could only get better.

…

That night, Dib lay staring at the sparkling sky, wondering if he'd ever sleep again. Every time he closed his eyes, the monstrous image of Iggins leaping at him, the boy's face set in lunacy, filled his mind. Eyes opened or not, he could swear he kept hearing the moist thunk of the arrow slamming into Iggins' cheek.

Dib knew he'd never forget those few terrible minutes in the graveyard.

"Say something," Keef said for the fifth time since they'd set out their sleeping bags.

"No," Dib replied, just as he had before.

"Everyone knows what happened. It's happened once or twice-some Griever-stung shank flipped out and attacked somebody. Don't think you're special."

For the first time, Dib thought Keef's personality had gone from mildly irritating to intolerable. "Keef, be glad I'm not holding Letter M's bow right now."

"I'm just play-"

"Shut up, Keef. Go to sleep." Dib just couldn't handle it right then.

Eventually, his "buddy" did doze off, and based on the rumble of snores across the Glade, so did everyone else. Hours later, deep in the night, Dib was still the only one awake. He wanted to cry, but didn't. He wanted to scream and kick and spit and open up the Box and jump into the blackness below. But he didn't.

He closed his eyes and forced the thoughts and dark images away and at some point he fell asleep.

…

Keef had to drag Dib out of his sleeping bag in the morning, drag him to the showers, and drag him to the dressing rooms. The whole time, Dib felt mopey and indifferent, his head aching, his body wanting more sleep. Breakfast was a blur, and an hour after it was over, Dib couldn't remember what he'd eaten. He was so tired, his brain felt like someone had gone in and stapled it to his skull in a dozen places. Heartburn ravaged his chest.

But from what he could tell, naps were frowned upon in the giant working farm of the Glade.

He stood with Gaz in front of the barn of the Blood House, getting ready for his first training session with a Keeper. Despite the rough morning, he was actually excited to learn more, and for the chance to get his mind off Iggins and the graveyard. Cows mooed, sheep bleated, pigs squealed all around him. Somewhere close by, a dog barked, making Dib hope Spuddy didn't bring new meaning to the word _hot dog_. _Hot dog,_ he thought. _When's the last time I had a hot dog? Who did I eat it with?_

"Dib, are you even listening to me?"

Dib snapped out of his daze and focused on Gaz, who'd been talking for who knew how long; Dib hadn't heard a word of it. "Yeah, sorry. Couldn't sleep last night."

Gaz attempted a pathetic smile. "Can't blame ya there. Went through the buggin' ringer, you did. Probably think I'm a slinthead shank for gettin' you ready to work your butt off today after an episode the likes of that."

Dib shrugged. "Work's probably the best thing I could do. Anything to get my mind off it."

Gaz nodded, and her smile became more genuine. "You're as smart as you look, Dib. That's one of the reasons we run this place all nice and busylike. You get lazy, you get sad. Start givin' up. Plain and simple."

Dib nodded, absently kicking a loose rock across the dusty, cracked stone floor of the glade. "So what's the latest on that Irken from yesterday?" If anything had penetrated the haze of his long morning, it had been thoughts about him. He wanted to know more about him, understand the odd connection he felt to him.

"Still in a coma, sleepin'. Med-jacks are spoon-feeding him whatever non-harmful soups Spuddy can cook up for an Irken, checking his vitals and such. He seems okay, just dead to the world for now."

"That was just plain weird." If it hadn't been for the whole Iggins-in-the-graveyard incident, Dib was sure he would've been all he'd thought about last night. Maybe he wouldn't have been able to sleep for an entirely different reason. He wanted to know who he was and if he really did know him somehow.

"Yeah," Gaz said. " _Weird_ 's as good a word as any, I 'spect."

Dib looked over Gaz's shoulder at the big faded-red barn, pushing thoughts of the Irken aside. "So what's first? Milk cows or slaughter some poor little pigs?"

Gaz laughed, a sound Dib realized he hadn't heard much since he'd arrived. "We always make the Newbies start with the bloody Slicers. Don't worry, cuttin' up Spuddy's victuals ain't but a part. Slicers do anything and everything dealin' with the beasties."

"Too bad I can't remember my whole life. Maybe I love killing animals." He was just joking, but Gaz didn't seem to get it.

Gaz nodded toward the barn. "Oh, you'll know good and well by the time sun sets tonight. Let's go meet Flan-he's the Keeper."

…

Flan was a freckled-covered kid, tall and skinny. He had cyan hair and blue eyes. He was wearing a green shirt and brown pants, and it seemed to Dib the Keeper liked his job way too much. _Maybe he was sent here for being a serial killer,_ he thought.

Flan showed Dib around for the first hour, pointing out which pens held which animals, where the chicken and turkey coops were, what went where in the barn. The dog, a pesky brown bloodhound with green grass stains named Gir, took quickly to Dib, hanging at his feet the entire tour. Wondering where the dog came from, Dib asked Flan, who said Gir had just always been there. Luckily, he seemed to have gotten his name as a joke, because he was pretty friendly.

The second hour was spent actually working with the farm animals-feeding, cleaning, fixing a fence, scraping up klunk. _Klunk_. Dib found himself using the Glader terms more and more.

The third hour was the hardest for Dib. He had to watch as Flan slaughtered a hog and began preparing its many parts for future eating. Dib swore two things to himself as he walked away for lunch break. First, his career would not be with the animals; second, he'd never again eat something that came out of a pig.

Flan had said for him to go on alone, that he'd hang around the Blood House, which was fine with Dib. As he walked toward the East Door, he couldn't stop picturing Flan in a dark corner of the barn, gnawing on raw pigs' feet. The guy gave him the willies.

Dib was just passing the Box when he was surprised to see someone enter the Glade from the Maze, through the West Door, to his left-a girl with spiky purple hair with a black headband and hazel eyes, who looked to be the same age Dib was. The Runner stopped three steps in, then bent over and put her hands on her knees, gasping for breath. She looked like she'd just run twenty miles, face red, skin covered in sweat, her blue and black dress soaked.

Dib stared, overcome with curiosity-he'd yet to see a Runner up close or talk to one. Plus, based on the last couple of days, the Runner was home hours early. Dib stepped forward, eager to meet her and ask question.

But before he could form a sentence, the girl collapsed to the ground.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Dib didn't move for a few seconds. The girl lay in a crumpled heap, barely moving, but Dib was frozen by indecision, afraid to get involved. What if something was seriously wrong with this girl? What if she'd been… _stung_? What if-

Dib snapped out of it-The Runner obviously needed help.

"Letter M!" he shouted. "Gaz! Somebody get them!"

Dib sprinted to the girl and knelt down beside her. "Hey-you okay?" The Runner's head rested on outstretched arms as she panted, her chest heaving. She was conscious, but Dib had never seen someone so exhausted.

"I'm… fine," she said between breaths, then looked up. "Who the klunk are you?"

"I'm new here." It hit Dib then that the Runners were out in the Maze during the day and hadn't witnessed any of the recent events firsthand. Did this girl even know about the Irken? Probably-surely someone had told her. "I'm Dib-been here just a couple of days."

The Runner pushed herself up into a sitting position, her purple hair matted to her skull with sweat. "Oh, yeah, Dib," she huffed. "Newbie. You and the Irken."

Letter M jogged up then, clearly upset. "What're you doin' back, Zita? What happened?"

"Calm your wad, Letter M," the Runner replied, seeming to gain strength by the second. "Make yourself useful and get me some water-I dropped my pack out there somewhere."

But Letter M didn't move. He kicked Zita in the leg-too hard to be playful. "What _happened_?"

"I can barely talk, shuck-face!" Zita yelled, her voice raw. "Get me some water!"

Letter M looked over at Dib, who was shocked to see the slightest hint of a smile flash across his face before vanishing in a scowl. "Zita's the only shank who can talk to me like that without getting her butt kicked off the Cliff."

Then, surprising Dib even more, Letter M turned and ran off, presumably to get Zita some water.

Dib turned toward Zita. "He lets you boss him around?"

Zita shrugged, then wiped fresh beads of sweat off her forehead. "You scared of that pip-squeak? Dude, you got a lot to learn. Freakin' Newbies."

The rebuke hurt Dib far more than it should have, considering he'd known this girl all of three minutes. "Isn't he the leader?"

"Leader?" Zita barked a grunt that was probably supposed to be a laugh. "Yeah, call him leader all you want. Maybe we should call him El Presidente. Nah, nah-Admiral Letter M. There you go." She rubbed her eyes, snickering as she did so.

Dib didn't know what to make of the conversation-it was hard to tell when Zita was joking. "So who _is_ the leader if he isn't?"

"Greenie, just shut it before you confuse yourself more." Zita sighed as if bored, then muttered, almost to herself, "Why do you shanks always come in here asking stupid questions? It's really annoying."

"What do you expect us to do?" Dib felt a flush of anger. _Like you were any different when you first came,_ he wanted to say.

"Do what you're told, keep your mouth shut. That's what I expect."

Zita had looked him square in the face for the first time with that last sentence, and Dib scooted back a few inches before he could stop himself. He realized immediately he'd just made a mistake-he couldn't let this girl think she could talk to him like that.

He pushed himself back up onto his knees so he was looking down at the girl. Yeah, I'm sure that's exactly what you did as a Newbie."

Zita looked at Dib carefully. Then, again staring straight in his eyes, said, "I was one of the first Gladers, slinthead. Shut your hole till you know what you're talking about."

Dib, now slightly scared of the girl but mostly fed up with her attitude, moved to get up. Zita's hand snapped out and grabbed his arm.

"Dude, sit down. I'm just playin' with your head. It's too much fun-you'll see when the next Newbie..." She trailed off, a perplexed look wrinkling her eyebrows. "Guess there won't _be_ another Newbie, huh?"

Dib relaxed, returned to a sitting position, surprised at how easily he'd been put back at ease. He thought of the Irken and the note saying he was the last one ever. "Guess not."

Zita squinted slightly, as if she was studying Dib. "You saw the Irken, right? Everybody says you probably know him or something."

Dib felt himself grow defensive. "I saw him. Doesn't really look familiar at all." He felt immediately guilty for lying-even if it was just a little lie.

"He hot?"

Dib paused, not having thought of him in that way since he'd freaked out and delivered the note and his one-liner- _Everything is going to change_. But he remembered how beautiful he was. "Yeah, I guess he's hot, for a male Irken."

Zita leaned back until she lay flat, eyes closed. "Yeah, you guess. If you're gay and got a thing for Irkens in comas, right?" She snickered again.

"Right." Dib was having the hardest time figuring out if he liked Zita or not-her personality seemed to change every minute. After a long pause, Dib decided to take a chance. "So...," he asked cautiously, "did you find anything today?"

Zita's eyes opened wide; she focused on Dib. "You know what, Greenie? That's usually the dumbest shuck-faced thing you could ask a Runner." She closed her eyes again. "But not today."

"What do you mean?" Dib dared to hope for information. _An answer_ , he thought. _Please just give me an answer!_

"Just wait till the fancy admiral gets back. I don't like saying stuff twice. Plus, he might not want you to hear it anyway."

Dib sighed. He wasn't in the least bit surprised at the non-answer. "Well, at least tell me why you look so tired. Don't you run out there every day?"

Zita groaned as she pulled herself up and crossed her legs under her. "Yeah, Greenie, I run out there every day. Let's just say I got a little excited and ran extra fast to get my bee-hind back here."

"Why?" Dib desperately wanted to hear about what happened out in the Maze.

Zita threw her hands up. "Dude. I told you. Patience. Wait for General Letter M."

Something in her voice lessened the blow, and Dib made his decision. He liked Zita. "Okay, I'll shut up. Just make sure Letter M lets me hear the news, too."

Zita studied him for a second. "Okay, Greenie. You da boss."

Letter M walked up a moment later with a big plastic cup full of water and handed it to Zita, who gulped down the whole thing without stopping once for breath.

"Okay," Letter M said. "out with it. What happened?"

Zita raised her eyebrows and nodded towards Dib.

"He's fine," Letter M replied. "I don't care what this shank hears. Just talk!"

Dib sat quietly in anticipation as Zita struggled to stand up, wincing with every move, her whole demeanor just _screaming_ exhaustion. The Runner balanced herself against the wall, gave both of them a cold look. "I found a dead one."

"Huh?" Letter M asked. "A dead what?"

Zita smiled. "A dead Griever."


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Dib was fascinated at the mention of a Griever. The nasty creature was terrifying to think about, but he wondered why finding a dead one was such a big deal. Had it never happened before?

Letter M looked like someone had just told him he could grow wings and fly. "Ain't a good time for jokes," he said.

"Look," Zita answered, "I wouldn't believe me if I were you, either. But trust me, I did. Big fat nasty one."

 _It's definitely never happened before,_ Dib thought.

"You found a _dead_ Griever," Letter M repeated.

" _Yes_ , Letter M," Zita said, her words laced with annoyance. "A couple of miles from here, out near the Cliff."

Letter M looked out at the Maze, then back at Zita. "Well... why didn't you bring it back with you?"

Zita laughed again, a half-grunt, half-giggle. "You been drinkin' Spuddy's saucy-sauce? Those things must weigh half a ton, dude. Plus, I wouldn't touch one if you gave me a free trip out of this place."

Letter M persisted with the questions. "What did it look like? Were the metal spikes in or out of its body? Did it move at all-was its skin still moist?"

Dib was bursting with question- _Metal spikes? Moist skin? What in the world?_ -but held his tongue, not wanting to remind them he was there. And that maybe they should talk in private.

"Slim it, man," Zita said. "You gotta see it for yourself. It's… weird."

"Weird?" Letter M looked confused.

"Dude, I'm exhausted, starving, and sun-sick. But if you wanna haul it right now, we could probably make it there and back before the walls shut."

Letter M looked at his watch. "Better wait till the wake-up tomorrow."

"Smartest thing you've said in a week." Zita righted herself from leaning on the wall, hit Letter M on the arm, then started walking toward the Homestead with a slight limp. She spoke over her shoulder as she shuffled away-it looked like her whole body was in pain. "I should go back out there, but screw it. I'm gonna go eat some of Spuddy's nasty casserole."

Dib felt a wash of disappointment. He had to admit Zita did look like she deserved a rest and a bite to eat, but he wanted to learn more.

Then Letter M turned to Dib, surprising him. "If you know something and ain't tellin' me..."

Dib was sick of being accused of knowing things. Wasn't that the problem in the first place? He _didn't_ know anything. He looked at the boy square in the face and asked, simply, "Why do you hate me so much?"

The look that came over Letter M's face was indescribable-part confusion, part anger, part shock. " _Hate_ you? Boy, you ain't learned nothin' since showing up in that Box. This ain't got nothin' to do with no hate or like or love or friends or anything. All we care about is surviving. Drop your sissy side and start using that shuck brain if you got one."

Dib felt like he'd been slapped. "But... why do you keep accusing-"

"Cuz it can't be a coincidence, slinthead! You pop in here, then we get us an Irken Newbie the next _day_ , a crazy note, Iggins tryin' to bite ya, dead Grievers. Something's goin' on and I ain't restin' till I figure it out."

"I don't _know_ anything, Letter M." It felt good to put some heat into his words. "I don't even know where I _was_ three days ago, much less why this Zita girl would find a dead thing called a Griever. So back off!"

Letter M leaned back slightly, stared absently at Dib for several seconds. Then he said, "Slim it, Greenie. Grow up and start thinkin'. Ain't got nothin' to do with accusing nobody of nothin'. But if you remember anything, if something even _seems_ familiar, you better start talking. Promise me."

 _Not until I have a solid memory,_ Dib thought. _Not unless I want to share._ "Yeah, I guess, but-"

"Just promise!"

Dib paused, sick of Letter M and his attitude. "Whatever," he finally said. "I promise."

At that Letter M turned and walked away, not saying another word.

…

Dib found a tree in the Deadheads, one of the nicer ones on the edge of the forest with plenty of shade. He dreaded going back to work with Flan the Butcher and knew he needed to eat lunch, but he didn't want to be near anybody for as long as he could get away with it. Leaning back against the thick trunk, he wished for a breeze but didn't get one.

He'd just felt his eyelids droop when Keef ruined his peace and quiet.

"Dib! Dib!" the boy shrieked as he ran toward him, pumping his arms, his face lit up with excitement.

Dib rubbed his eyes and groaned; he wanted nothing in the world more than a half-hour nap. It wasn't until Keef stopped right in front of him, panting to catch his breath, that he finally looked up. "What?"

Words slowly fell from Keef, in between his gasps for breath. "Iggins… Iggins… he isn't… dead."

All signs of fatigue catapulted out of Dib's system. He jumped up to stand nose to nose with Keef. " _What?_ "

"He… isn't dead. Baggers went to get him… arrow missed his brain… Med-jacks patched him up."

Dib turned away to stare into the forest where the sick boy had attacked him just the night before. "You gotta be kidding. I saw him. ..." He wasn't dead? Dib didn't know what he felt most strongly: confusion, relief, fear that he'd be attacked again...

"Well, so did I," Keef said. "He's locked up in the Slammer, a huge bandage covering half his head."

Dib spun to face Keef again. "The Slammer? What do you mean?"

"The Slammer. It's our jail on the north side of the Homestead." Keef pointed in that direction. "They threw him in it so fast, the Med-jacks had to patch him up in there."

Dib rubbed his eyes. Guilt consumed him when he realized how he truly felt-he'd been relieved that Iggins was dead, that he didn't have to worry about facing him again. "So what are they gonna do with him?"

"Already had a Gathering of the Keepers this morning-made a unanimous decision by the sounds of it. Looks like Iggins'll be wishing that arrow had found a home inside his shuck brain after all."

Dib squinted, confused by what Keef had said. "What are you talking about?"

"He's being Banished. Tonight, for trying to kill you."

"Banished? What does _that_ mean?" Dib had to ask, though he knew it couldn't be good if Keef thought it was worse than being dead.

And then Dib saw perhaps the most disturbing thing he'd seen since he'd arrived at the Glade. Keef didn't answer; he only smiled. _Smiled_ , despite it all, despite the sinister sound of what he'd just announced. Then he turned and ran, maybe to tell someone else the exciting news.

…

That night, Gaz and Letter M gathered every last Glader at the East Door about a half hour before it closed, the first traces of twilight's dimness creeping across the sky. The Runners had just returned and entered the mysterious Map Room, clanging the iron door shut; Zita had already gone in earlier. Letter M told the Runners to hurry their business-he wanted them back out in twenty minutes.

It still bothered Dib how Keef had smiled when breaking the news about Iggins being Banished. Though he didn't know exactly what it meant, it certainly didn't sound like a good thing. Especially since they were all standing so close to the Maze. _Are they going to put him out there?_ He wondered. _With the Grievers?_

The other Gladers murmured their conversations in hushed tones, an intense feeling of dreadful anticipation hanging over them like a patch of thick fog. But Dib said nothing, standing with arms folded, waiting for the show. He stood quietly until the Runners finally came out of their building, all of them looking exhausted, their faces pinched from deep thinking. Zita had been the first to exit, which made Dib wonder if she was the Keeper of the Runners.

"Bring him out!" Letter M shouted, startling Dib out of his thoughts.

His arms fell to his sides as he turned, looking around the Glade for a sign of Iggins, trepidation building within him as he wondered what the boy would do when he saw him.

From around the far side of the Homestead, three of the bigger boys appeared, literally dragging Iggins along the ground. His clothes were tattered, barely hanging on; a bloody, thick bandage covered half his head and face. Refusing to put his feet down or help the progress in any way, he seemed as dead as the last time Dib had seen him. Except for one thing.

His eyes were open, and they were wide with terror.

"Gaz," Letter M said in a much quieter voice; Dib wouldn't have heard him if he hadn't been standing just a few feet away. "Bring out the Pole."

Gaz nodded, already on the move toward a small tool shed used for the Gardens; she'd clearly been waiting for the order.

Dib turned his focus back to Iggins and the guards. The pale, miserable boy still made no effort to resist, letting them drag him across the dusty stone of the courtyard. When they reached the crowd, they pulled Iggins to his feet in front of Letter M, their leader, where Iggins hung his head, refusing to make eye contact with anyone.

"You brought this on yourself, Iggins," Letter M said. Then he shook his head and looked toward the shack to which Gaz had gone.

Dib followed his gaze just in time to see Gaz walk through the slanted door. She was holding several aluminum poles, connecting the ends to make a shaft maybe twenty feet long. When she was finished, she grabbed something odd-shaped on one of the ends and dragged the whole thing along toward the group. A shiver ran up Dib's spine at the metallic scrape of the pole on the stone ground as Gaz walked.

Dib was horrified by the whole affair-he couldn't help feeling responsible even though he'd never done anything to provoke Iggins. How was any of this his fault? No answer came to him, but he felt the guilt all the same, like a disease in his blood.

Finally, Gaz stepped up to Letter M and handed over the end of the pole she was holding. Dib could see the strange attachment now. A loop of rough leather, fastened to the metal with a massive staple. A large button snap revealed that the loop could be opened and closed, and its purpose became obvious.

It was a collar.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Dib watched as Letter M unbuttoned the collar, then wrapped it around Iggins' neck; Iggins finally looked up just as the loop of leather snapped closed with a loud pop. Tears glistened in his eyes; dribbles of snot oozed from his nostrils. The Gladers looked on, not a word from any of them.

"Please, Letter M," Iggins pleaded, his shaky voice so pathetic that Dib couldn't believe it was the same guy who'd tried to bite his throat off the day before. "I swear I was just sick in the head from the Changing. I never would've killed him-just lost my mind for a second. Please, Letter M, _please_."

Every word from the kid was like a fist punching Dib in the gut, making him feel more guilty and confused.

Letter M didn't respond to Iggins; he pulled on the collar to make sure it was both firmly snapped and solidly attached to the long pole. He walked past Iggins and along the pole, picking it up off the ground as he slid its length through his palm and fingers. When he reached the end, he gripped it tightly and turned to face the crowd. Eyes bloodshot, face wrinkled in anger, breathing heavily-to Dib, he suddenly looked evil.

And it was an odd sight on the other side: Iggins, trembling, crying, a roughly cut collar of old leather wrapped around his pale, scrawny neck, attached to a long pole that stretched from him to Letter M, twenty feet away. The shaft of aluminum bowed in the middle, but only a little. Even from where Dib was standing, it looked surprisingly strong.

Letter M spoke in a loud, almost ceremonious voice, looking at no one and everyone at the same time. "Iggins of the Builders, you've been sentenced to Banishment for the attempted murder of Dib the Newbie. The Keepers have spoken, and their word ain't changing. And you ain't coming back. Ever." A long pause. "Keepers, take your place on the Banishment Pole."

Dib hated that his link to Iggins was being made public-hated the responsibility he felt. Being the center of attention again could only bring more suspicion about him. His guilt transformed into anger and blame. More than anything, he just wanted Iggins gone, wanted it all to be over.

One by one, boys and girls were stepping out of the crowd and walking over to the long pole; they grabbed it with both hands, gripped it as if readying for a tug-of-war match. Gaz was one of them, as was Zita, confirming Dib's guess that she was the Keeper of the Runners. Flan the Butcher also took up a position.

Once they were all in place-ten Keepers spaced evenly apart between Letter M and Iggins-the air grew still and silent. The only sounds were the muffled sobs of Iggins, who kept wiping at his nose and eyes. He was looking left and right, though the collar around his neck prevented him front seeing the pole and Keepers behind him.

Dib's feelings changed again. Something was obviously wrong with Iggins. Why did he deserve this fate? Couldn't something be done for him? Would Dib spend the rest of his days feeling responsible? _Just end,_ he screamed in his head. _Just be over!_

"Please," Iggins said, his voice rising in desperation. " _Pllllleeeeeeeeease!_ Somebody, help me! You can't do this to me!"

" _Shut up!_ " Letter M roared from behind.

But Iggins ignored him, pleading for help as he started to pull on the leather looped around his neck. "Someone stop them! Help me! Please!" He glanced from kid to kid, begging with his eyes. Without fail, everyone looked away. Dib quickly stepped behind a taller boy to avoid his own confrontation with Iggins. _I can't look into those eyes again,_ he thought.

"If we let shanks like you get away with that stuff," Letter M said, "we never would've survived this long. Keepers, get ready."

"No, no, no, no, no," Iggins was saying, half under his breath. "I swear I'll do anything! I swear I'll never do it again! _Pllllleeeeeee_ -"

His shrill cry was cut off by the rumbling crack of the East Door beginning to close. Sparks flew from the stone as the massive right wall slid to the left, groaning thunderously as it made its journey to close off the Glade from the Maze for the night. The ground shook beneath them, and Dib didn't know if he could watch what he knew was going to happen next.

"Keepers, _now_!" Letter M shouted.

Iggins' head snapped back as he was jerked forward, the Keepers pushing the pole toward the Maze outside the Glade. A strangling cry erupted from Iggins' throat, louder than the sounds of the closing Door. He fell to his knees, only to be jerked back to his feet by the Keeper in front, a thin guy in thin black glasses with black hair and brown eyes, a snarl on his face. He was wearing a blue sweater and brown trousers.

" _Noooooooooo_!" Iggins screamed, spit flying from his mouth as he thrashed about, tearing at the collar with his hands. But the combined strength of the Keepers was way too much, forcing the condemned boy closer and closer to the edge of the Glade, just as the right wall was almost there. " _Noooo!_ " he screamed again, and then again.

He tried to plant his feet at the threshold, but it only lasted for a split second; the pole sent him into the Maze with a lurch. Soon he was fully four feet outside the Glade jerking his body from side to side as he tried to escape his collar. The walls of the Door were only seconds from sealing shut.

With one last violent effort, Iggins was finally able to twist his neck in the circle of leather so that his whole body turned to face the Gladers. Dib couldn't believe he was still looking upon a human being-the madness in Iggins' eyes, the phlegm flying from his mouth, the pale skin stretched taut across his veins and bones. He looked even more alien than the Irken did.

" _Hold!_ " Letter M shouted.

Iggins screamed then, without pause, a sound so piercing that Dib covered his ears. It was a bestial, lunatic cry, surely ripping the boy's vocal cords to shreds. At the last second, the front Keeper somehow loosened the larger pole from the piece attached to Iggins and yanked it back into the Glade, leaving the boy to his Banishment. Iggins' final screams were cut off when the walls closed with a terrible boom.

Dib squeezed his eyes shut and was surprised to feel tears trickling down his cheeks.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

For the second night in a row, Dib went to bed with the haunted image of Iggins' face burned into his mind, tormenting him. How different would things be right now if it weren't for that one boy? Dib could almost convince himself he'd be completely content, happy and excited to learn his new life, aim for his goal of being a Runner. Almost. Deep down he knew that Iggins was only part of his many problems.

But now he was gone, Banished to the world of the Grievers, taken to wherever they took their prey, victim to whatever was done there. Though he had plenty of reasons to despise Iggins, he mostly felt sorry for him.

Dib couldn't imagine going out that way, but based on Iggins last moments, psychotically thrashing and spitting and screaming, he no longer doubted the importance of the Glade rule that no one should enter the Maze except Runners, and then only during the day. Somehow Iggins had already been stung once, which meant he knew better than perhaps anyone just exactly what lay in store for him.

 _That poor guy,_ he thought. _That poor, poor guy._

Dib shuddered and rolled over on his side. The more he thought about it, being a Runner didn't sound like such a great idea. But, inexplicably, it still called to him.

…

The next morning, dawn had barely touched the sky before the working sounds of the Glade wakened Dib from the deepest slumber since he'd arrived. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, trying to shake the heavy grogginess. Giving up, he lay back down, hoping no one would bother him.

It didn't last a minute.

Someone tapped his shoulder and he opened his eyes to see Gaz staring down at him. _What now?_ He thought.

"Get up, ya lug."

"Yeah, good morning to you, too. What time is it?"

"Seven o'clock, Greenie," Gaz said with a mocking smile. "Figured I'd let ya sleep in after such a rough couple days."

Dib rolled into a sitting position, hating that he couldn't just lie there for another few hours. "Sleep in? What are you guys, a bunch of farmers?" Farmers-how did he remember so much about them? Once again his memory wipe baffled him.

"Uh… yeah, now that ya mention it." Gaz plopped down beside Dib and folded her legs up under herself. She sat quietly for a few moments, looking out at all the hustle-bustle starting to whip up across the Glade. "Gonna put ya with the Track-hoes today, Greenie. See if that suits your fancy more than slicin' up bloody piggies and such."

Dib was sick of being treated like a baby. "Aren't you supposed to quit calling me that?"

"What, bloody piggies?"

Dib forced a laugh and shook his head. "No, _Greenie_. I'm not really the newest Newbie anymore, right? The Irken in the coma is. Call _him_ Greenie-my name's Dib." Thoughts of the Irken crashed around his mind, made him remember the connection he felt. A sadness washed over him, as if he missed him, wanted to see him. _That doesn't make sense,_ he thought. _I don't even know his name._

Gaz leaned back, eyebrows raised. "Burn me-you grew some right nice-sized eggs over night, now didn't ya?"

Dib ignored her and moved on. "What's a Track-hoe?"

"It's what we call the guys workin' their butts off in the Gardens-tilling, weeding, planting and such."

Dib nodded in that direction. "Who's the Keeper?"

"Brian. Nice guy, s'long as you don't sluff on the job, that is. He's the one that stood in front last night."

Dib didn't say anything to that, hoping that somehow he could go through the entire day without talking about Iggins and the Banishment. The subject only made him sick and guilty, so he moved on to something else. "So why'd you come wake me up?"

"What, don't like seein' my face first thing on the wake-up?"

"Not especially, So-" But before he could finish his sentence the rumble of the walls opening for the day cut him off. He looked toward the East Door, almost expecting to see Iggins standing there on the other side. Instead, he saw Zita stretching. Then Dib watched as she walked over and picked something up.

It was the section of pole with the leather collar attached to it. Zita seemed to think nothing of it, throwing it to one of the other Runners, who went and put it back in the tool shed near the Gardens.

Dib turned back to Gaz, confused. How could Zita act so nonchalant about it all? "What the-"

"Only seen three Banishments, Dib. All as nasty as the one you peeped on last night. But every buggin' time, the Grievers leave the collar on our doorstep. Gives me the willies like nothin' else."

Dib had to agree. "What do they _do_ with people when they catch them?" Did he really want to know?

Gaz just shrugged, her indifference not very convincing. More likely she didn't want to talk about it.

"So tell me about the Runners," Dib said suddenly. The words seemed to pop out of nowhere. But he remained still, despite an odd urge to apologize and change the subject; he wanted to know everything about them. Even after what he'd seen last night, even after witnessing the Griever through the window, he wanted to know. The _pull_ to know was strong, and he didn't quite understand why. Becoming a Runner just felt like something he was born to do.

Gaz had paused, looking confused. "The Runners? Why?"

"Just wondering."

Gaz gave him a suspicious look. "Best of the best, those guys. Have to be. Everything depends on them." She picked up a loose rock and tossed it, watching it absently as it bounced to a stop.

"Why aren't you one?"

Gaz's gaze returned to Dib, sharply. "Was till I hurt my leg few months back. Hasn't been the bloody same since." She reached down and rubbed her right ankle absently, a brief look of pain flashing across her face. The look made Dib think it was more from the memory, not any actual physical pain she still felt.

"How'd you do it?" Dib asked, thinking the more he could get Gaz to talk, the more he'd learn.

"Runnin' from the buggin' Grievers, what else? Almost got me." She paused. "Still gives me the chills thinkin' I might have gone through the Changing."

The Changing. It was the one topic that Dib thought might lead him to answers more than anything else. "What _is_ that, anyway? What changes? Does everyone go psycho like Iggins and start trying to kill people?"

"Iggins was way worse than most. But I thought you wanted to talk about the Runners." Gaz's tone warned that the conversation about the Changing was over.

This made Dib even more curious, though he was just fine going back to the subject of Runners. "Okay, I'm listening."

"Like I said, best of the best."

"So what do you do? Test everybody to see how fast they are?"

Gaz gave Dib a disgusted look, then groaned. "Show me some smarts, Greenie, Dib, whatever ya like. How fast you can bloody run is only part of it. A very small part, actually."

This piqued Dib's interest. "What do you mean?"

"When I say best of the best, I mean at everything. To survive the buggin' Maze, you gotta be smart, quick, strong. Gotta be a decision maker, know the right amount of risk to take. Can't be reckless, can't be timid, either." Gaz straightened her legs and leaned back on her hands. "It's bloody awful out there, ya know? I don't miss it."

"I thought the Grievers only came out at night." Destiny or not, Dib didn't want to run into one of those things.

"Yeah, usually."

"Then why is it so terrible out there?" What _else_ didn't he know about?"

Gaz sighed. "Pressure. Stress. Maze pattern different every day, tryin' to picture things in your mind, tryin' to get us out of here. Worryin' about the bloody Maps. Worst part, you're always scared you might not make it back. A normal maze'd be hard enough-but when it _changes_ every night, couple of mental mistakes and you're spendin' the night with vicious beasts. No room or time for dummies or brats."

Dib frowned, not quite understanding the drive inside him, urging him on. Especially after last night. But he still felt it. Felt it all over.

"Why all the interest?" Gaz asked.

Dib hesitated, thinking, scared to say it out loud again. "I want to be a Runner."

Gaz turned and looked him in the eye. "Haven't been here a week, shank. Little early for death wishes, don't ya think?"

"I'm serious." It barely made sense even to Dib, but he felt it deeply. In fact, the desire to become a Runner was the only thing driving him on, helping him accept his predicament.

Gaz didn't break her gaze. "So am I. Forget it. No one's ever become a Runner in their first month, much less their first week. Got a lot of provin' to do before we'll recommend you to the Keeper."

Dib stood and started folding up his sleeping gear. "Gaz, I mean it. I can't pull weeds all day-I'll go nuts. I don't have a clue what I did before they shipped me here in that metal box, but my gut tells me that being a Runner is what I'm supposed to do. I can do it."

Gaz still sat there, staring up at Dib, not offering to help. "No one said you couldn't. But give it a rest for now."

Dib felt a surge of impatience. "But-"

"Listen, trust me on this, Dib. Start stompin' around this place yappin' about how you're too good to work like a peasant, how you're all nice and ready to be a Runner-you'll make plenty of enemies. Drop it for now."

Making enemies was the last thing Dib wanted, but still. He decided on another direction. "Fine, I'll talk to Zita about it."

"Good try, ya buggin' shank. The Gathering elects Runners, and if you think _I'm_ tough, they'd laugh in your face."

"For all you guys know, I could be really good at it. It's a waste of time to make me wait."

Gaz stood to join Dib and jabbed a finger in his face. "You listen to me, Greenie. You listenin' all nice and pretty?"

Dib surprisingly didn't feel that intimidated. He rolled his eyes, but then nodded.

"You better stop this nonsense, before others hear about it. That's not how it works around here, and our whole existence depends on things _working_."

She paused, but Dib said nothing, dreading the lecture he knew was coming.

"Order," Gaz continued. "Order. You say that bloody word over and over in your shuck head. Reason we're all sane around here is 'cause we work our butts off and maintain order. Order's the reason we put Iggins out-can't very well have loonies runnin' around tryin' to kill people, now can we? _Order_. Last thing we need is you screwin' that up."

The stubbornness washed out of Dib. He knew it was time to shut up. "Yeah" was all he said.

Gaz slapped him on the back. "Let's make a deal."

"What?" Dib felt his hopes rise.

"You keep your mouth shut about it, and I'll put you on the list of potential trainees as soon as you show some clout. _Don't_ keep your trap shut, and I'll bloody make sure ya never see it happen. Deal?"

Dib hated the idea of waiting, not knowing how long it might be. "That's a sucky deal."

Gaz raised her eyebrows.

Dib finally nodded. "Deal."

"Come one, let's get us some grub from Spuddy. And hope we don't bloody choke."

…

That morning, Dib finally met the infamous Spuddy, if only from a distance. The kid was too busy trying to feed breakfast to an army of starving Gladers. He couldn't have been more than eight years old, making him extremely young to be a cook. He had brown hair under a grey hat with a smiley face, and bags under his hazel eyes. He was wearing a black shirt with a red beetle, and grey shorts. Dib made a mental note to watch for burnt or rubbery food in his meals.

He and Gaz had just joined Keef for breakfast at a picnic table right outside the Kitchen when a large group of Gladers got up and ran toward the West Door, talking excitedly about something.

"What's going on?" Dib asked, surprising himself at how nonchalantly he said it. New developments in the Glade had just become a part of life.

Gaz shrugged as she dug into her eggs. "Just seein' off Zita and Letter M-they're going to look at the buggin' dead Griever."

"Hey," Keef said. A small piece of bacon flew out of his mouth when he spoke. "I've got a question about that."

"Yeah, Keef?" Gaz asked, somewhat sarcastically. "And what's your bloody question?"

Keef seemed deep in thought. "Well, they found a dead Griever, right?"

"Yeah," Gaz replied. "Thanks for that bit of news."

Keef absently tapped his fork against the table for a few seconds. "Well, then who _killed_ the stupid thing?"

 _Excellent question,_ Dib thought. He waited for Gaz to answer, but nothing came. She obviously didn't have a clue.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Dib spent the morning with the Keeper of the Gardens, "working his butt off," as Gaz would've said. Brian was the tall, black-haired glasses wearing kid who'd stood at front of the pole during Iggins' Banishment, and who for some odd reason smelled like sour milk. He didn't say much, but showed Dib the ropes until he could start working on his own. Weeding, pruning an apricot tree, planting squash and zucchini seeds, picking veggies. He didn't love it, and mostly ignored the other boys and girls working alongside him, but he didn't hate it nearly as much as what he'd done for Flan at the Blood House.

Dib and Brian were weeding a long row of young corn when Dib decided it was a good time to start asking questions. This Keeper seemed a lot more approachable.

"So, Brian," he said.

The Keeper glanced up at him, then resumed his work. The kid had droopy eyes and a long face-for some reason he looked as bored as humanly possible. "Yeah, Greenie, what you want?"

"How many Keepers total are there?" Dib asked, trying to act casual. "And what are the job options?"

"Well, you got the Builders, the Sloppers, Baggers, Cooks, Map-makers, Med-jacks, Track-hoes, Blood Housers. The Runners, of course. I don't know, a few more, maybe. Pretty much keep to myself and my own stuff."

Most of the words were self-explanatory, but Dib wondered about a couple of them. "What's a Slopper?" He knew that was what Keef did, but the boy never wanted to talk about it. Refused to talk about it.

"That's what the shanks do that can't do nothin' else. Clean toilets, clean the showers, clean the kitchen, clean up the Blood House after a slaughter, everything. Spend one day with them suckers-that'll cure any thoughts of goin' that direction, I can tell ya that."

Dib felt a pang of guilt over Keef-felt sorry for him. The kid tried so hard to be everyone's friend, but no one seemed to like him or even pay attention to him. Yeah, he was a little excitable and talked too much, but Dib was glad enough to have him around.

"What about the Track-hoes?" Dib asked as he yanked out a huge weed, clumps of dirt swaying on the roots.

Brian cleared his throat and kept on working as he answered. "They're the ones take care of all the heavy stuff for the Gardens. Trenching and whatnot. During off times they do other stuff round the Glade. Actually, a lot of Gladers have more than one job. Anyone tell you that?"

Dib ignored the question and moved on, determined to get as many answers as possible. "What about the Baggers? I know they take care of dead people, but it can't happen _that_ often, can it?"

"Those are the creepy fellas. They act as guards and poh-lice, too. Everyone just likes to call 'em Baggers. Have fun that day, brother." He snickered, the first time Dib had heard him do so-there was something very likable about it.

Dib had more questions. Lots more. Keef and everyone else around the Glade never wanted to give him the answers to anything. And here was Brian, who seemed perfectly willing. But suddenly Dib didn't feel like talking anymore. For some reason the Irken had popped into his head again, out of the blue, and then thoughts of Iggins, and the dead Griever, which should have been a good thing but everyone acted as if it were anything but.

His new life pretty much sucked.

He drew a deep, long breath. _Just work_ , he thought. And he did.

…

By the time midafternoon arrived, Dib was ready to collapse from exhaustion-all that bending over and crawling around on your knees in the dirt was the pits. Blood House, Gardens. Two strikes.

 _Runner,_ he thought as he went on break. _Just let me be a Runner._ Once again he thought about how absurd it was that he wanted it so badly. But even though he didn't understand it, or where it came from, the desire was undeniable. Just as strong were thoughts of the Irken, but he pushed them aside as much as possible.

Tired and sore, he headed to the Kitchen for a snack and some water. He could've eaten a full-blown meal despite having had lunch just two hours earlier. Even pig was starting to sound good again.

He bit into an apple, then plopped on the ground beside Keef. Gaz was there, too, but sat alone, ignoring everybody. Her eyes were squinted more deeply than usual, her forehead creased with heavy lines. Dib watched as Gaz chewed her fingernails, something he hadn't seen the younger girl do before.

Keef noticed and asked the question that was on Dib's mind. "What's wrong with her?" the boy whispered. "Looks like you did when you popped out of the Box."

"I don't know," Dib replied. "Why don't you go ask her?"

"I can hear every bloody word you guys are saying," Gaz called in a loud voice. "No wonder people hate sleepin' next to you shanks."

Dib felt like he'd been caught stealing, but he was genuinely concerned-Gaz was one of the few people in the Glade he actually liked.

"What _is_ wrong with you?" Keef asked. "No offense, but you look like klunk."

"Every lovin' thing in the universe," she replied, then fell silent as she stared off into space for a long moment. Dib almost pushed her with another question, but Gaz finally continued. "The Irken from the Box. Keeps groanin' and saying all kinds of weird stuff, but won't wake up. Med-jacks're doing their best to feed him with what little human food he _can_ eat, but he's eatin' less each time. I'm tellin' ya, something's very bad about that whole bloody thing."

Dib looked down at his apple, then took a bite. It tasted sour now-he realized he was worried about the Irken. Concerned for his welfare. As if he knew him.

Gaz let out a long sigh. "Shuck it. But that's not what really has me buggin'."

"Then what does?" Keef asked.

Dib leaned forward, so curious he was able to put the Irken out of his mind.

Gaz's eyes narrowed even more as she looked out toward one of the entrances to the Maze. "Letter M and Zita," she muttered. "They should've come back hours ago."

…

Before Dib knew it he was back at work, pulling up weeds again, counting down the minutes until he'd be done with the Gardens. He glanced constantly at the West Door, looking for any sign of Letter M and Zita, Gaz's concern having rubbed off on him.

Gaz had said they were supposed to have come back by noon, just enough time for them to get to the dead Griever, explore for an hour or two, then return. No wonder she'd looked so upset. When Keef offered up that maybe they were just exploring and having some fun, Gaz had given him a stare so harsh Dib thought that either Keef or herself might spontaneously combust.

He'd never forget the next look that had come over Gaz's face. When Dib asked why Gaz and some others didn't just go into the Maze and search for their friends, Gaz's expression had changed to outright horror-her cheeks had _shrunk_ into her face, becoming shallow and dark. It gradually passed, and she'd explained that sending out search parties was forbidden, lest even more people be lost, but there was no mistaking the fear that had crossed her face.

Gaz was terrified of the Maze.

Whatever had happened to her out there-maybe even related to her lingering ankle injury-had been truly awful.

Dib tried not to think about it as he put his focus back on yanking weeds.

…

That night dinner proved to be a somber affair, and it had nothing to do with the food. Spuddy and his cooks served up a grand meal of steak, mashed potatoes, green bean and hot rolls. Dib was quickly learning that jokes about Spuddy's cooking were just that-jokes. Everyone gobbled up his or her food and usually begged for more. But tonight, the Gladers ate like dead men and women resurrected for one last meal before being sent to live with the devil.

The Runners had returned at their normal time, and Dib had grown more and more upset as he watched Gaz run from Door to Door as they entered the Glade, not bothering to hide her panic. But Letter M and Zita never showed up. Gaz forced the Gladers to go on and get some of Spuddy's hard-earned dinner, but she insisted on standing watch for the missing duo. No one said it, but Dib knew it wouldn't be long before the Doors closed.

Dib reluctantly followed orders like the rest of the boys and girls and was sharing a picnic table on the south side of the Homestead with Keef and Flan. He'd only been able to eat a few bites when he couldn't take it anymore.

"I can't stand sitting here while they're out there missing," he said as he dropped his fork on the plate. "I'm going over to watch the Doors with Gaz." He stood up and headed out to look.

Not surprisingly, Keef was right behind him.

They found Gaz at the West Door, pacing, running her hands through her abnormally purple hair. She looked up as Dib and Keef approached.

"Where _are_ they?" Gaz said, her voice thin and strained.

Dib was touched that Gaz cared so much about Letter M and Zita-as if they were her own kin. "Why don't we send out a search party?" he suggested again. It seemed so stupid to sit here and worry themselves to death when they could go out there and _find_ them.

"Bloody he-" Gaz started before stopping herself; she closed her eyes for a second and took a deep breath. "We can't. Okay? Don't say it again. One hundred percent against the rules. Especially with the buggin' Doors about to close."

"But why?" Dib persisted, in disbelief at Gaz's stubbornness. "Won't the Grievers get them if they stay out there? Shouldn't we do something?"

Gaz turned on him, her face flushed red, her eyes flamed with fury.

"Shut your hole, Greenie!" she yelled. "Not a bloody week you've been here! You think I wouldn't risk my life in a second to save those lugs?"

"No… I… Sorry. I didn't mean…" Dib didn't know what to say-he was just trying to help.

Gaz's face softened. "You don't get it yet, Dib. Going out there at night is beggin' for death. We'd just be throwin' more lives away. If those shanks don't make it back…" She paused, seeming hesitant to say what everyone was thinking. "Both of 'em swore an oath, just like I did. Like we all did. You, too, when you go to your first Gathering and get chosen by a Keeper. Never go out at night. No matter what. Never."

Dib looked over at Keef, who seemed as pale-faced as Gaz.

"Gaz won't say it," the boy said, "so I will. If they're not back, it means they're dead. Zita's too smart to get lost. Impossible. They're dead."

Gaz said nothing, and Keef turned and walked back toward the Homestead, his head hanging low. _Dead?_ Dib thought. The situation had become so grave he didn't know how to react, felt a pit of emptiness in his heart.

"The shank's right," Gaz said solemnly. "That's why we can't go out. We can't afford to make things bloody worse than they already are."

She put her hand on Dib's shoulder, then let it slump to her side. Tears moistened Gaz's eyes, and Dib was sure that even within the dark chamber of memories that were locked away, out of his reach, he'd never seen someone look so sad. The growing darkness of twilight was a perfect fit for how grim things felt to Dib.

"The Doors close in two minutes," Gaz said, a statement so succinct and final it seemed to hang in the air like a burial shroud caught in a puff of wind. Then she walked away, hunched over, quiet.

Dib shook his head and looked back into the Maze. He barely knew Letter M and Zita. But his chest ached at the thought of them out there, killed by the horrendous creature he'd seen through the window his first morning in the Glade.

A loud boom sounded from all directions, startling Dib out of his thoughts. Then came the crunching, grinding sound of stone against stone. The Doors were closing for the night.

The right wall rumbled across the ground, spitting dirt and rocks as it moved. The vertical row of connecting rods, so many they seemed to reach the sky far above, slid toward their corresponding holes on the left wall, ready to seal shut until the morning. Once again, Dib looked in awe at the massive moving wall-it defied any sense of physics. It seemed impossible.

Then a flicker of movement to the left caught his eyes.

Something stirred inside the Maze, down the long corridor in front of him.

At first, a shot of panic raced through him; he stepped back, worried it might be a Griever. But then two forms took shape, stumbling along the alley toward the Door. His eyes finally focused through the initial blindness of fear, and he realized it was Zita, with one of Letter M's arms draped across her shoulders, practically dragging the boy along behind her. Zita looked up, saw Dib, who knew his eyes must be bulging out of his head.

"They got him!" Zita shouted, her voice strangled and weak with exhaustion. Every step she took seemed like it could be her last.

Dib was so stunned by the turn of events, it took a moment for him to act. "Gaz!" he finally screamed, forcing his gaze away from Zita and Letter M to face the other direction. "They're coming! I can see 'em!" He knew he should run into the Maze and help, but the rule about not leaving the Glade was seared into his mind.

Gaz had already made it back to the Homestead, but at Dib's cry she immediately spun around and broke into a stuttering run toward the Door.

Dib turned to look back into the Maze and dread washed through him. Letter M had slipped out of Zita's clutches and fallen to the ground. Dib watched as Zita tried desperately to get him back on his feet, then, finally giving up, started to drag the boy across the stone floor by the arms.

But they were still a hundred feet away.

The right wall was closing fast, seeming to quicken its pace the more Dib willed it to slow down. There were only seconds left until it shut completely. They had no chance of making it in time. No chance at all.

Dib turned to look at Gaz: limping along as well as she could, she'd only made it halfway to Dib.

He looked back into the Maze, at the closing wall. Only a few feet more and it'd be over.

Zita stumbled up ahead, fell to the ground. They weren't going to make it. Time was up. That was it.

Dib heard Gaz scream something from behind him.

"Don't do it, Dib! Don't you bloody do it!"

The rods on the right wall seemed to reach like stretched-out arms for their home, grasping for those little holes that would serve as their resting place for the night. The crunching, grinding sound of the Doors filled the air, deafening.

Five feet. Four feet. Three. Two.

Dib knew he had no choice. He _moved_. Forward. He squeezed past the connecting rods at the last second and stepped into the Maze.

The walls slammed shut behind him, the echo of its boom bouncing off the ivy-covered stone like mad laughter.


End file.
